


From the Ashes of Disaster

by impalagirl, wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [37]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, College Student Stiles, F/M, M/M, Multi, Scarred!Derek, author!derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalagirl/pseuds/impalagirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stiles has seen this guy around before. He's not in the library very often, but whenever he is, so is this guy. He's always sequestered away in some dark corner or another, always scowling at his laptop screen or his notepad or the book in his hand. Stiles has never seen him talk to anyone, has never even seen him outside of the library, and has honestly never given him much thought before. Except about how sad he looks, how alone. It's not something that keeps Stiles up at night, but he can't help but be struck for just a few moments by the weight that is quite obviously bearing down on this guy, every time he sees him. Can't help but be struck by it now.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Normally, with someone who is this obviously a Loner, Stiles would back away slowly and revisit his plan to make up his camp on the library floor - but there's something about this guy, something about the softness of his full beard and the way his hair curls around his ears, that's making Stiles want to stay. It's not the first time he's noticed how alone this guy is, but it's the first time he's wondered if maybe he can do something about it.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Ashes of Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, in this AU, Derek's family didn't die because of Kate Argent - as far as this fic is concerned, Kate doesn't exist. Derek, however, does have extensive scarring and he has issues with it, issues that lead to a scene where he and Stiles have sex and Derek is... very mean about things. When you see something about "derek wouldn't even let Stiles open a curtain", if you're not comfortable with reading what borders dubcon, then skip down to "Derek and Stiles avoid each other after that".
> 
> (also Chitty Chitty Bang Bang title ftw)

Stiles Stilinski can't even blame the woman behind the desk for the look she gives him when he bursts into the library at four-thirty in the afternoon on the third day into the last week before Christmas. His backpack is threatening to burst at the seams, his coat is hanging messily off one shoulder, his hair is flyaway and thick with week-old grease, and his glasses are slightly askew. But seriously, screw this bitch and anyone else who wants to judge him. Deadlines are falling from the sky like bricks, he has yet to start a single assignment, and he's going home for the holidays on Saturday. He has three days to get everything finished, and he hasn't slept properly in over two weeks. Also, there are no free tables in the library.

Suddenly, the acid-laced expression this librarian is sporting makes so much sense. _There are no free tables in this library_. It's not even that he's only looking at the computers - he has his laptop buried somewhere in the chaos that is his backpack and fully charged, so he won't even need an outlet for at least three hours, four if he uses his phone for music instead of iTunes and stays off Tumblr. Every single table is taken, and not only taken, but piled so high with books that he can't even see the occupants. He wastes a handful of valuable minutes craning his neck and squinting around the room anyway, hoping to see someone he recognises and can force to budge over, but no. There's no one. Stiles has to fight the urge to stomp his foot in frustration like the child his father still insists he is.

The librarian seems to sense this, because her lips purse and her hand twitches toward the phone beside her monitor. He's seen this woman call security on wayward students twice himself, and has heard about her doing it on at least three other occasions. _Damn it_. Stiles is seriously considering just sitting down right here, two feet from the doorway, and doing his work on the floor, but he's worried that the metaphorical daggers in the librarian's gaze might become real daggers in her hands way before security ever manages to get up here. Her hand twitches again, and Stiles is just about to call it good and literally _run_ all the way back to his dorm when he spots it.

Way over there toward the back of the library, almost hidden in the stacks, the empty corner of a table is just about visible. Stiles makes a strangled sound and darts over, and is equal parts dismayed and delighted to discover that the table is occupied, but that only half of it is being used. Stiles likes to have a whole table to himself, so that he can spread out and make a mess and there's no one in the immediate vicinity to judge him when he mouths obnoxiously along to the music in his headphones, but at this point he's grateful just to have a few inches of desk on which to rest his laptop. There's even an _outlet_ , holy shit. An outlet which is admittedly playing host to someone else's charger, but maybe they can switch when Stiles' laptop starts to die and then again when it's charged up. Stiles looks up to suggest this very excellent idea, and only then does he notice just who is occupying the table.

Stiles has seen this guy around before. He's not in the library very often, but whenever he is, so is this guy. He's always sequestered away in some dark corner or another, always scowling at his laptop screen or his notepad or the book in his hand. Stiles has never seen him talk to anyone, has never even seen him outside of the library, and has honestly never given him much thought before. Except about how sad he looks, how alone. It's not something that keeps Stiles up at night, but he can't help but be struck for just a few moments by the weight that is quite obviously bearing down on this guy, every time he sees him. Can't help but be struck by it now.

Normally, with someone who is this obviously a Loner, Stiles would back away slowly and revisit his plan to make up his camp on the library floor - but there's something about this guy, something about the softness of his full beard and the way his hair curls around his ears, that's making Stiles want to stay. It's not the first time he's noticed how alone this guy is, but it's the first time he's wondered if maybe he can do something about it.

"Hey," Stiles says, softly, so as not to disturb the guy or the rest of the library. "Hey, do you mind if I sit here?"

Derek looks up at the sound of someone speaking, and he blinks when he recognizes the loud, almost obnoxious student who's known for hogging entire tables. It takes him a second to process what the other's said, then he shrugs one shoulder. "Library's packed," he says shortly. "Survival of the fastest, right? Help yourself."

" _Thanks_ ," Stiles breathes, and he feels like he can't cram enough gratitude into that single word. He drops his backpack off his shoulder and winces hard when its weight pulls it from his grip and sends it crashing to the floor. Mumbling a heartfelt apology, he hastily slips into his seat and digs out his laptop before the guy across from him can change his mind. "Hey," he whispers again, and when the guy looks up, he gestures to the outlet. "I figured we could switch later?"

Derek follows the gesture, then nods. "I've got 78%, so I'll be plugged in for a while yet," he says quietly. "Older laptop, older battery."

Stiles smiles. "Mine's fully charged, so that works out," he says. "I'm Stiles, by the way."

"Derek," he answers, then goes back to his laptop. His therapist, Dr. Morrell, has suggested a new project for him: writing out what happened to him. Her reasoning is that, as he's always had a better time writing than speaking out loud, he might be able to talk to himself, at least, about what happened. She suggested writing it in the form of a story, but Derek isn't sure if he can do that. It’d feel like trivialising what'd happened, he fears. So, he sits there and stares at a blank Word document, the little blinking cursor seeming to judge him as he struggles to decide on his course of action. Eventually, a thought strikes, and he tentatively reaches out, placing his fingers to the keys, and begins to type. 

Stiles looks up about an hour later, and sees that Derek has barely moved. It's not exactly a shock, but he feels a twinge of concern anyway. This time, just saying his name doesn't get a reaction, so Stiles waves his hand in front of Derek's laptop screen until he looks up. His glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose, and honestly, it's adorable. "I was just going to get a coffee," Stiles whispers. "You want?"

Derek pushes his glasses back, then nods. "Just a small one, thank you."

"Sure thing." Stiles leaves the table with a smile, and upon his return waves Derek off when he reaches for his wallet. "It was like half the price of mine," he says, holding up his own sugary concoction. "Don't sweat it."

Derek eyes the cup in Stiles's hand. "I can smell the sugar from here," he says incredulously. 

Stiles grins. "I hate the taste of coffee," he admits.

Derek raises an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure they invented energy drinks for people like you," he retorts, then flushes when a girl a table over hisses at them to shut up. 

Stiles' grin widens, but he doesn't say anything more. Instead, he goes back to his work, and lets Derek return to his.

* * *

They stay like that for several more hours in companionable silence; they're both too focused on their respective computers, occasionally switching out the outlet(Derek's laptop battery refuses to hold a charge for more than two hours; unfortunately, this is the third brand-new battery with the same problem. He really needs a new computer.), and it’s rather nice. Derek doesn't really know Stiles, and Stiles doesn't really know him, so this is probably the most comfortable he's been in a stranger's company since... since.

When it comes time for Derek to leave(Cora has been texting him impatiently and threatening to remotely put his ringer on full, and Derek doesn't want to take a chance that she could actually do that), he packs everything up swiftly, then hesitates - he thinks about saying goodbye, maybe a "see you around", but Stiles looks like he’s totally engrossed in whatever is going on in his head, occasionally mouthing profanities at his computer or singing along under his breath to something from his headphones. In the end, Derek doesn't say goodbye, just leaves. Maybe he'll see Stiles tomorrow.

Stiles doesn't notice that Derek's gone for maybe another hour, and by then someone else has taken his seat _and_ the outlet, without even asking. Stiles is irritated by this asshole, but he's more sorry that he missed Derek leaving. He would have liked to say goodbye, and thank him for his company. But never mind, he thinks to himself as he starts to pack up his stuff - it's late enough now that there are a couple of free tables and there's no way he's staying here with this asshole. Maybe it's for the best. He'll probably never need to sit with Derek again.

It turns out that he has woefully misjudged the sheer level of desperation students feel with two days to go before Christmas break.

Derek, however, remembers all too well just how desperate students - including himself - can get. As such, he feels only slightly guilty about spreading all of his stuff across the same table from the day before and glaring at anyone who attempts to ask him to move his stuff. If asked, Derek will deny that he’s saving a spot for Stiles, but... Well, that's exactly what he’s doing. Not that he’ll admit it.

At roughly the same time as the day before, Stiles bursts into the library again, and Derek waits until Stiles looks his way before raising a hand and waving him over, stomach twisting itself into knots. What does he think he’s doing?

Stiles' sigh of relief is so heavy that his whole body goes limp for a moment, and when he sinks into the seat across from Derek his smile is weak but heartfelt. "Oh man, thank you. I was about to cry!"

Derek feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself. "You really can't get here any earlier?"

Stiles shakes his head. "I have to work," he says. "Trust me, I've tried to cut my hours, but my boss is an asshole."

Derek hums. "It is a couple of days before Christmas break," he concedes. "Well, you can have first shot at the outlet if you want; I've got a full battery."

Stiles grins. "You're the best," he says sincerely, and unzips his backpack.

This time, Derek hides his smile - though not very successfully - by ducking down to fish his laptop out of his bag. He'd managed to make quite a bit of headway into his project the day before, and he thinks that maybe this will actually be helpful, if not exactly _fun_ , considering why he's writing it. But Morrell had been right, it’s been much easier to write than he's ever found it to be speaking to her. She wants to read it, but only when he feels like he can show her. That's what Derek has always liked about her, more than some of the other psychiatrists and therapists he's seen: she’s willing to push and prod him, but she acknowledges and recognizes that Derek can't be pushed and poked and maneuvered all the time, that some things have to be done on his own terms. She's never manipulated him into revealing anything personal, never even tried, and that puts her _lightyears_ ahead of the others he's seen.

Derek hasn't actually done any planning for this, he’s flying by the seat of his pants, but he knows that he doesn't want to the hero of this story - because he isn't. He may not be the villain, but he sure as hell isn't the hero. Instead, he's made the main character someone completely uninvolved with the original tragedy, what started the story. Tyler Posey - an asthmatic teenager of mixed Hispanic and Caucasian heritage - is preparing for lacrosse tryouts at school the next day when his friend, Dylan, drags him out into the woods to search for a dead body; Dylan is caught by his father, the sheriff, and Scott hightails it into the woods when he trips over what he thinks is a log, but is actually the dead girl's arm. That's when he finds out that the body they were looking for? Is actually _half_ a body. Blinded by fear, Tyler tries to run away, but starts losing his breath, edging into an asthma attack, and realizes he's lost his inhaler in the scramble from the body.

Right about then is when everything _really_ goes to shit for Tyler - he's attacked by a wild animal, and ends up passing out.

That’s as far as Derek got the day before, and he’s rather excited to continue writing, to figure out Tyler's story, and try to decide where, exactly, Derek himself and his story will come in. Derek won't lie, he's not exactly looking forward to that part.

Stiles has been alternating his focus between his own laptop and Derek's face. He looks so intense, like he's really into what he's writing, and it's making Stiles curious. He's never seen anyone look at an essay that way before. Still, Stiles has deadlines, so he buckles down and forces himself to work for an hour straight.

When he looks up again, Derek looks different. He's tense, a little frown furrowing his brow, and he's definitely not taking joy in whatever he's writing anymore. Stiles hesitates, wondering if he should leave Derek to it or try to pull him back into the real world. After a moment or two, he decides on the latter, and reaches out to touch Derek's hand. "Are you okay?"

Derek, lost in thought about just how similar he wants Story-Him to resemble Real-Him, jumps hard enough to bang his knee on the underside of the table. "What?" he says, almost snaps, then grimaces. "Sorry. Did you say something?"

Stiles blows out a breath. "I asked if you were okay," he says. "Maybe you should take a break?"

Derek blinks, glances at the screen, and then nods. "Yeah, I probably should," he concedes. 

Stiles quirks his lips in a soft smile. "Do you wanna get out of here?"

Derek glances back at his laptop, and then nods decidedly. "Coffee break?" he suggests.

Stiles lets his smile widen into a grin. "Sounds great."

* * *

They don't go to Starbucks; rather they go to the campus coffee house, which Derek's always liked. He recognizes the barista, Erica, and offers her a smile when he and Stiles walk up to the counter. "Hey Erica; what're you still doing here? I thought you were going to SYU for your Master's."

Erica waves her hand dismissively. "Couldn't afford it," she says, "and Boyd is still finishing up his degree. We'll work something out together when he's finished." She notices Stiles then, and her smile takes on a predatory edge. "And who is this?"

Derek nods, sympathizing with the money problems. He'd inherited a large sum of money, but he hasn't touched any of it. His expression changes to one of exasperation at Erica's question though, and he rolls his eyes. "This is Stiles, and before you get any ideas, no, this isn't a date."

"Shame," Erica says, a wicked glint in her eye. "He's cute."

"He's also standing right here," Stiles says, laughing.

Erica doesn't look remotely apologetic. "What can I get you, sweetie?"

"A one-shot skinny latte with a shot of caramel, please," Stiles says, and then hesitates. "Actually, make that two shots of caramel."

Erica laughs. "Yeah, he's far too sweet for you, Derek."

"Gonna give yourself a cavity," Derek says with a roll of his eyes. "You still have that local roast I like?"

"Of course," Erica says, already taking out mugs. "Go sit down and I'll bring it over, okay?"

Derek nods. "Thanks Erica," he says with a smile. 

They nab a seat not far from the door, and their knees knock beneath the table. Stiles grins. "She seems nice," he says, as though 'nice' isn't exactly the word he'd choose. "How long have you known her?"

"Couple of years," Derek answers. "She decided I looked interesting at some mixer freshman year, and I'm not sure how it happened but I got a new best friend."

"I bet you didn't have much choice in that," Stiles smirks. "But she seems cool. Not the kind of person I'd want to get on the bad side of."

Derek grins. "Matt Daehler did; Erica found out he'd been taking creepy pictures of a lot of girls and then he tried to take some of her. She punched him through the camera; she needed stitches on her hand, and his face was completely messed up."

"Oh shit!" Stiles laughs. "Yeah, I like her a lot. I think I remember hearing about Daehler."

"Yeah he ended up expelled," Derek says, grinning. "What about you? You're not a native New Yorker."

Stiles shakes his head. "Nah, I'm from a little nowhere town in California. Actually heading back there on Saturday."

"Visiting family?" Derek asks, unable to hide the wistfulness. 

"Just my dad," Stiles says. "What about you?"

Derek shakes his head, saying, "I'm staying up here; my family and I don't see much of each other." Most of that is Derek's doing, but he doesn't think Stiles needs to know that. 

Stiles looks sympathetic. "Shame," he says. "Still, I bet you could use the time to work. I'm trying to get everything finished before I go home, 'cause I know I won't do a thing once I get there."

Derek smiles, a bit ruefully. "Yeah, I probably will," he muses. "I've got a pretty big assignment I'm actually excited for."

"Yeah?" Stiles asks. "Is that what had you all frowny-faced just now?"

"Yeah; it's uh, a creative writing project." Not exactly a lie, but Derek doesn't feel comfortable telling Stiles that it's an assignment from his therapist. "I just got stuck deciding a backstory for a character."

"That's cool," Stiles says. "I can't write to save my life but I'm a really good reader. If you need someone to bounce ideas off of, or--"

"Order's up!" Erica's cheerful voice announces from right beside Stiles, and _Jesus_ , where the hell did she come from? She sets their mugs down in front of them, accompanied by cute little biscotti things that Stiles is very excited by, and smiles at Derek. "Do you need anything else?"

Derek can't help but snicker at Stiles's jump when Erica arrives. "I think that'll be it for now," he answers with a smile. "We'll let you know if we need anything else."

"Okay," Erica says brightly. "I know they all say to treat 'em mean and keep 'em keen, but this one looks kinda Bambi-eyed, so smile for once in your life, okay?"

She's gone as quickly as she appeared, and Stiles is left to stare after her in bewilderment. "I'm pretty sure that's mildly offensive," he says, thoughtful.

Derek laughs. "She's always like that," he says reassuringly. "She grows on you."

"I believe you," Stiles says. He takes a sip of his coffee and closes his eyes in bliss. "Shit, this is the best. Are you sure you don't want a taste?"

Derek lifts his own cup. "I'm good," he says with a slight chuckle. 

Stiles heaves a dramatic sigh. "Boring."

Derek grins. "Safe," he corrects. "And less likely to rot my teeth out."

"Hey, I'll have you know that my dentist loves me."

"Because you keep him in business," Derek laughs. 

Stiles rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "Whatever, asshole. Enjoy your steaming cup of despair."

* * *

The same thing happens the next day; Derek and Stiles work together in relative silence for a few hours before heading to the cafe for a coffee break. The last day of the semester, Stiles is late, and Derek tries not to be worried. Maybe a test ran late?

He waits for over an hour before Stiles bursts into the library at last, looking even more rumpled than usual and causing a stack of books on a nearby cart to cascade to the floor. "Shit, shit, sorry, I can clear that up, look, I'm clearing it up, I'm--" The look the librarian gives him would be enough to make him pee a little, were he not the delinquent son of a sheriff. "I'm backing away, I'm going over there to study in complete silence, look, there's my friend, I'll just leave this here in your capable hands." Stiles doesn't run over to the table he and Derek share, but it's a near thing.

Derek barely hides a laugh, coughing into his fist instead. Still, when Stiles gets to his table, he's grinning as he asks, "Why're you late?"

Stiles huffs, looking frazzled. "My boss wouldn't let me leave," he says - and then he smiles. "Why, did you miss me?"

Derek grins. "You've been fairly punctual; I did wonder a bit."

Stiles' smile widens. "You totally missed me," he whispers, beyond smug.

Derek rolls his eyes so hard he halfway fears detaching something. "Of course, I don't know _what_ I'll do over Christmas break without you to annoy me with your sugary drinks," he simpers. 

Stiles completely ignores the sarcasm, and nods sympathetically instead. "I'm asking myself the same thing," he says. "But I'm sure we'll survive somehow."

"Of course we will," Derek agrees with a semi-fond smile. 

Stiles laughs and pulls his laptop from his bag. "So did you get much work done while I was delayed, or did you spend the whole time staring longingly at the door?"

"I worked," Derek says indignantly - and he did. Some. "I'm not some damsel from one of those bodice-rippers. And you are not the dashing rogue."

Stiles smirks. "That's what you think."

"If anyone's the dashing rogue, it's me; you don't have enough stubble," Derek retorts. 

Stiles concedes that point with a nod. "Fair," he says, "but I'm not pretty or busty enough to be a damsel. So what does that make me?"

"The rogue's sidekick," Derek says promptly, grinning. 

Stiles groans, but doesn't argue. "Figures," he laughs. "I'm always the sidekick."

Derek graces him with a cheeky smile, but then the librarian shushes them, and he ducks his head to focus on his writing. 

* * *

Stiles goes home the next morning without Derek's number, and he's a little sad about that. He'd dropped enough hints over the course of their study session and coffee break that they should keep in touch, but Derek had refused to bite. Stiles will have no need to spend all of his time in the library for some weeks after Christmas, and maybe Derek won't, either; since Stiles has never seen Derek outside of the library, it's a good possibility that their paths won't cross again. This idea bothers Stiles more than he can care to admit.

But while he spends almost the whole flight back to California worrying, he doesn't have much time to think about it once he actually steps off the plane. His dad is waiting right outside the gate and is there with a big smile and a warm hug almost instantly, along with a strong demand that Stiles tell him _everything_ their weekly phonecalls don't allow time for over a plate of curly fries. It's not that Stiles forgets about Derek - it's just that he doesn't know how to talk about him, and only blushes and looks away when his dad asks if he made any new friends worthy of note this semester.

Scott comes over the next evening, and he and Stiles spend two solid hours gaming and eating Doritos and shooting the shit. When they're finally called down for dinner, because the sheriff took the whole weekend off just for Stiles and even agreed to include a side salad with their steaks, they're both relaxed and smiling in a way they haven't been since Stiles left at the end of the summer. The sheriff looks pleased to see it. "You two all caught up now?"

"Not even," Stiles scoffs as he sits down. "Scott was just telling me how well Allison's doing in Vermont. It sounds like she's having a great time."

The sheriff nods in acknowledgement and cuts reverently into his steak. "How are you handling the long-distance thing?" he asks Scott.

"It's hard," Scott admits. "But I love Allison, so we're making it work." He pokes at his steak for a moment before adding,"I also met someone. Isaac. Allison likes him, too."

Stiles almost inhales a lettuce leaf. "What?" he splutters. "So you're gonna have a threesome? Why wasn't I told about this?!"

The sheriff clears his throat awkwardly. "I know you two are almost uncomfortably candid with each other, but can you please remember that there's also an old man with a dodgy ticker at this table?"

Scott flushes. "Not like that!" he protests. "Allison's only met him through Skype, and that's only like, twice."

"So then what are you saying?" Stiles asks. "You're not going to leave her for this guy, are you?"

"Of course not!" Scott says, aghast. "But... Well, Allison _did_ mention she thought he was cute. But neither of us are eager to rush things, y'know?"

"Sounds like a great idea," the sheriff says. "Shall we change the subject?"

Scotts gaze sharpens. "Sure," he says, looking at Stiles. "Why don't we ask you what's going on with you and this Derek fellow?"

Stiles drops his head into his hand, while the sheriff looks up, interested. "What Derek fellow?"

"Oh my god!" Stiles groans. "He's no one!"

Scotts grin goes wicked. "'Oh, I think Derek flirted with me today,'" he mimics, voice a high falsetto. "'Do you think he's into guys, Scott? I hope he is, I really wanna - '"

Both Stilinskis cut him off with an indignant cry, and the sheriff actually covers his ears until Scott closes his mouth. "Don't go there, okay?" Stiles asks. "It's not like that. We're barely even friends."

Scott rolls his eyes. "But you want to be at least better friends."

Stiles shrugs. "Not gonna happen."

Scott frowns. "Why not?"

"We probably won't see each other after Christmas," Stiles says simply.

"Oh?" the sheriff prompts. 

"I won't need to be in the library so much," Stiles says.

"Isn't he a student there?"

"I think so, but we don't have any classes together," Stiles says. "I think he's a year or so above me."

"You'll probably still see him in the library, though," Scott reasons. "I know you bro, you get distracted way too easily in your dorm room."

"He doesn't need me to bother him anymore," Stiles says dismissively. "We were just sharing an outlet."

"Well he talked with you, right? Went out and actually got coffee with you? You're not 'bothering' him."

"Can we drop it?" Stiles asks. "He didn't want to keep in touch over the holidays."

The sheriff and Scott exchange looks at that, but they do as Stiles requests, and the subject falls by the wayside.

* * *

A few days later, back in New York, Derek gets a phonecall. He's been getting them every day for the last week, always at the same time, always from the same number - but he's been ignoring them. Until now.

"Hello, little brother!" Laura cries cheerfully, the moment Derek answers the phone. "How good it is to finally hear your voice! You haven't been dodging my calls, have you?"

"Of course not," Derek mumbles, phone tucked between ear and shoulder. "I've been busy."

"Oh, of course," Laura allows. "How's your project coming?"

"It's coming," Derek hedges. "Got almost fifteen thousand words."

"That's amazing, Derek! Is it helping?"

"A little," Derek admits. He hasn't _actually_ done what Dr. Morrell had asked him to do yet, since he hasn't made himself the main character; that's Tyler Posey, not Tyler Hoechlin. The same first name is kind of obvious, but Derek likes Posey better; he likes to think that Posey is who Derek might've been, if he didn't feel so damned guilty for surviving when, by all rights, he shouldn't have. He has started slowly sketching out Hoechlin's backstory, though; he'd ripped the bandaid off, so to speak, making the first thing known about him the fact that his family had died in a fire.

"...Enough that we can expect you for Christmas dinner next week?" Laura asks carefully.

Derek wants to hit his head against the desk. "I don't think so," he says, voice short. "You know I don't like using that money."

"Then I'll pay," Laura says. "With money I earned. No big deal."

"Laura it's less than a week before Christmas," Derek argues. "You won't find any flights for anything less than an arm and a leg."

"I make a lot of money," Laura says flippantly. "Seriously, having you home is more important."

Derek sighs. "Laura, you know how things have gone the past few years," he mutters. "I really don't think it's a good idea."

"Not a good idea to see your family?" Laura asks sharply. "We miss you, you know."

"Yeah, well I'm sure you'd appreciate a Christmas without me and Peter making things awkward," Derek snaps. "I'm staying in New York, Laura, and that's final."

There's a very tense pause, and then Laura sighs. "Fine," she says quietly. "But you can't avoid us forever. Love you, little brother." She hangs up, rather than give him the time to return the sentiment. There's every chance he won't.

* * *

Derek's not sure when the spring semester starts up again, but he guesses that it's around the second week of January, since that's when the library gets busy again. He's been using the library to do his writing; as an alumni of the university, he's been granted access. He doesn't much like public libraries, but his own apartment doesn't have the greatest internet, so the campus library is the best compromise. 

Derek doesn't see Stiles in the library for the first two weeks, and in that time he makes progress in leaps and bounds - he's reached the climax of his story, and is working on the falling action. He's decided that this first manuscript - now over forty thousand words - isn't the whole story. He's also made changes to most of the characters, but especially Dylan, Posey's best friend. Dylan's resemblance to Stiles was a little too close for Derek's comfort, so he changed it; Dylan became a bit lankier, skin a bit darker, and got a buzz cut. 

Derek's late getting to the library one day (he'd missed his stop on the subway thanks to a couple of screaming kids), and that's when he sees Stiles again. The younger man is sitting at what Derek's still been mentally calling 'their' table, and Derek takes a deep breath before clutching the strap of his laptop bag and making his way over. "Hey," he says quietly. "Is this table taken?"

Startled, Stiles looks up, and when he recognises Derek a bright smile lights up his face. He'd been sad when he got to the library about an hour ago and Derek was nowhere to be seen, and is sitting here largely for pathetic, nostalgic reasons - but now he's delighted to see Derek and even more delighted that Derek is talking to him. "No, no, not at all," Stiles murmurs back. He hurriedly stuffs several books into his backpack to make room on the other side of their table. "Sit down, God, don't mind me. Unless you wanted me to move, too?"

Derek's quick to shake his head. "No, I uh, I was hoping I'd catch you here."

If it's possible, Stiles' expression brightens even further. "Really?" he asks, grinning. "Miss me that much, huh?"

"No, Erica did," Derek shoots back, though he's grinning as he settles his stuff on the table. "She's been bugging me since break ended."

"She still convinced I'm your boyfriend?" Stiles asks, his smile weakening only a little.

"Nah, but she's missed teasing you," Derek answers. "And uh, I gotta say the library has been pretty quiet without you."

Stiles laughs softly at that. "I thought that was supposed to be the point."

Derek frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Y'know, libraries are meant to be quiet," Stiles says. "Besides, I thought you'd appreciate not having me around to annoy you."

Now Derek's expression turns confused. "When did I ever say you annoyed me?"

Stiles shrugs, smiles. "I annoy most people."

"You don't annoy me," Derek informs him, pulling out his laptop.

Stiles ducks his head to hide how soft his smile gets at that. "Well, okay then."

* * *

They work in relative silence for an hour or so, then Derek becomes aware of a pair of what sounds like stilettos approaching; when he looks up, he has to blink. The redhead approaching is small, but she carries herself with an undeniable air of confidence. "Can I help you?" he asks hesitantly. 

"I doubt it," the girl says archly, before turning to Stiles. "But you can."

Stiles looks up, and sighs. "Hey, Lydia. I have the book you wanted, just hang on."

While Stiles rummages through his bag, Lydia turns her sharp gaze onto Derek once more. "And who are you?"

"Derek," he answers, watching her curiously. "So do you usually bully books off of Stiles?"

"Only when he's got something worth reading," Lydia says, a curious smile curving her mouth. "Stiles has mentioned you."

Stiles jerks hard, and curses when his knee slams into the table.

Derek glances at where Stiles is still cursing, raising one eyebrow when he looks back at Lydia. "And what has he been saying about me?"

Lydia's smile grows, slow and sly. "Wouldn't you like to know," she says.

"Here's your book, Lydia," Stiles says quickly, forcefully, and thrusts the book under her nose. She takes it and, with one last smile for Derek, walks away. Stiles' relief has him melting into the table. "Sorry about her."

Derek can't help but chuckle. "Are all your friends like that?"

Stiles shakes his head, smiling ruefully. "There's no one quite like Lydia."

"I wouldn't think so," Derek agrees. "That'd be too much for this world to handle."

Stiles winces. "I'm sorry if she made you uncomfortable."

Derek shakes his head. "No, no, not at all," he hastens to reassure Stiles. 

Stiles laughs. "She'll try harder next time, I'm sure."

Derek grins, and the two lapse into a comfortable silence for a while. Derek breaks it seven hundred and forty-eight words later, saying, "You know, I never got a chance to get your number before you left for break."

Stiles starts, but doesn't give voice to the thought that first comes to mind, that he gave Derek plenty of chances. "Give me your phone," he says instead. "I'll put it in."

Derek hands over his phone without protest. "Thanks. I would've kept in touch over break if I'd had your number." Derek hadn't been totally oblivious to Stiles's hints, but it's been so long since he's made a friend that he wasn't sure he trusted it. But he'd missed Stiles over break - not that he'd say it aloud - and he thinks that maybe they can make this work.

Stiles can't quite keep the smile off his face as he adds his number to Derek's contacts and shoots himself a text. "There," he says. "Now I can harass you to my heart's content."

Derek grins. "I look forward to it," he replies, and finds that it's not sarcastic at all.

* * *

Two weeks later, at the time of day when Derek would normally be sitting in the coffee shop with Stiles, Derek is instead sitting in an office with his therapist. Dr. Morrell is considering him with a thoughtful look in her eyes, and she lets the silence stretch between them for a few long moments before she says, "You look well." She smiles then and shuffles some papers around on her desk, and picks up a pen. "Last time we talked, you were in the middle of that writing project I set you. How is it coming?"

Derek scratches the back of his neck. "Well, uh, the first part's done," he admits. "It kind of got away from me a bit, and I'm working on a part two."

"Really," Morrell says, interested. "How long is the first part? And how autobiographic?"

Derek fidget in his chair. "About fifty-seven thousand words. And it's... Well, the main character isn't me. Not exactly."

Morrell hums. "Would you want me to read it?" she asks.

That brings Derek up short, and he blinks. "Would you want to read it?" he asks cautiously. 

"Of course," Morrell says, "but only if you'd be comfortable with that."

Derek takes a moment to consider that carefully; after a moment, he nods. "Okay. I can email it to you. Confidential." He knows Morrell is nothing if not professional, but he still feels the need to check, to reassure himself that she's not running off to what's left of Derek's family behind his back.

Morrell understands, and she nods. "Anything you share with me is kept strictly between the two of us," she says, just like she does every time this comes up. "So, with that in mind, what else have you been doing? Last time, you mentioned that you'd met someone at the university. Do you still talk to him?"

Just the mention of Stiles brings a small grin to Derek's face, and he steadfastly refuses to acknowledge what that might mean. "Yeah, Stiles - we still talk and grab coffee together occasionally."

"Occasionally?" Morrell asks, arching an eyebrow.

Derek flushes slightly. "Frequently," he admits. _Almost every day._

Morrell smiles like she knows exactly what he's keeping back. "And how do you feel, after spending time with Stiles?"

Derek shrugs one shoulder. "I feel relaxed," he says after a moment. "Like I can just be me, without all of the baggage, around him."

"And what about your other friends? Your family?" Morrell pushes. "Do you not feel like that around them?"

Derek knows that it won't do any good to snap at her, even though the very mention of his family makes him tense instinctively. "My other friends all know my family," he mutters. "So they know what happened. And my family... You know that I don't feel like I can be myself around them. I feel like I shouldn't even be alive around them."

Morrell sighs. This is an old issue with them, and she knows that now isn't the time to press it. "Do you feel like you can’t trust Stiles?"

Derek shakes his head in answer to the first question. To the second, he says, "I think I can - but I don't want him to know. I like being around him and not worrying that he's secretly pitying me or something."

"Like the others, you mean?" Morrell asks. "Your other friends?"

Derek sighs. "I don't really think they're pitying me or judging me," he confesses quietly, "but sometimes... It's still hard. It's been years, the scars have healed as much as they're going to, but I still can't shake the feeling that I shouldn't be here, that I should have died with everyone else. That it's my fault M-- they all died, because the rescue team wasted time getting to me."

Morrell nods. "Well, if talking to Stiles helps, then keep it up," she says, "but you need to be careful. He can't become a crutch, Derek; if you're going to maintain this friendship long-term, he needs to know the truth eventually."

"I know," Derek says, still quiet. And he does, he knows that eventually Stiles will find out, because he's smart, or Erica or Boyd or Isaac will let something slip, or something else will happen, and it'll just be better if Stiles hears about it from Derek first. "I just... want to enjoy this. It's been a long time since I can go longer than an hour without feeling guilty."

Morrell smiles. "Then enjoy it," she says, "and come see me in a month."

* * *

It doesn't take that long for things to start spiraling out of Derek's control, however; the weather has started to do that weird New England thing where it wavers between spring and winter temperatures for a month and a half before settling on one or the other for another month before abruptly switching again. They've recently entered a warm spell, and Derek makes the mistake of forgetting his usual process of covering his neck with makeup when he's not wearing a turtleneck. Of course, Stiles notices. 

It's not that Stiles is repulsed or horrified or even morbidly curious like most people are; his eyes don't immediately soften with pity and he doesn't tell Derek that he's _so sorry_. Instead, he sits down across from Derek with a smile, his cheeks flushed with the heat and his hair damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, and when, after an instant or two, his attention is caught by the twisted, off-colour scar tissue mottling Derek's neck, he just snaps his gaze back up to Derek's eyes and grins. "Cool ink, man, very alternative. Where did you get it done?"

Derek gapes at Stiles for a moment. _He honestly thinks -_ "It's not a tattoo," Derek snaps, shifting in his seat to try to hide the scar. 

Stiles' jaw drops. "Oh my god," he splutters. "I-- my glasses, I left-- I'm so sorry, shit, fuck--"

"Stiles," Derek says sharply. "It's fine. Just - it's not a tattoo, I usually cover it. I don't want to talk about it right now."

Stiles catches himself, takes a breath. "Okay," he says. "Okay, I'm sorry, of course you don't have to talk about it." He tries a smile. "Still looks badass though."

Derek sighs, and shakes his head. "Thanks," he mutters. 

Stiles ducks his head, silently cursing himself, and doesn't say anything more.

* * *

Things are a bit awkward for the rest of that day, and the day after. But things settle out, and before Derek knows it, it’s time for his next appointment with Morrell. "So, did you get a chance to read what I sent you?" Derek asks, a bit awkwardly. It'd been nerve-wracking, sending the document to Morrell. 

"I did," Morrell says, "and I found it very interesting. Derek, would you ever consider sending this to a publisher?"

That brings Derek up short. "A... publisher?"

"Your writing style is unique, and very engaging," Morrell tells him. "I know you started this project as part of your therapy, and we'll definitely be talking about how it helped and why you chose to tell the story the way you did, but for all that it's a very personal tale I think it would reach a lot of people. If you could stand to profit from your experiences in this way, you could make a lot of money."

Derek chews on his lower lip. "It'd feel like profiting from their deaths," he says quietly. 

"The way I see it, I don't think it is," Morrell says. "I know your experiences inspired this story, but it isn't _your_ story. You're not even the main character, Derek - at least, not the you that sits before me today. If anything, you'd be profiting from your own talent; your ability to take what's happened to you, to your family, and make something good out of it."

Derek thinks on that for a moment, then sighs. "How would I even go about getting it published?"

"I can give you a few people to contact," Morrell answers. "People I'm sure would be interested in helping you, and would be respectful of you and your story. But only if you want to."

"I want to think about it," Derek says. "For a little bit."

Morrell nods. "Take your time," she says. "For now, how did this month go?"

Derek sighs. "Stiles saw some of my scars," he admits. 

Morrell raises her eyebrows. "What happened?" she asks.

"I forgot to cover them when I didn't wear a turtleneck," Derek says. "He saw and thought they were tattoos."

"Did he make fun of you?" Morrell asks.

Derek shakes his head. "No, he started apologizing as soon as he realized he'd assumed wrong."

"And how did you feel? About him seeing your scars, and his reaction?"

"Complicated," Derek sighs. "I was scared, because I wasn't ready to show him them, and because if he asked, I'd tell him what happened. But I kind of wanted to tell him anyway."

"Were you afraid that he'd react badly?"

Derek hesitates. "Not exactly," he answers. "I don't think he'd - say anything negative about it, to my face. But he has a tendency to be... very... exuberant? Exaggerated? I'm not sure what the word I'm looking for is, in his actions."

Morrell tilts her head. "Why is that an issue?"

"I worry he'd go to one extreme or the other," Derek confesses. "Either pretending that nothing happened, or walking on eggshells around me."

"It's a risk," Morrell allows. "Is he demanding answers?"

Derek shakes his head. "No, he hasn't actually said or done anything since he saw them."

"Then take your time," Morrell says gently. "It's important that you do this at your own pace, if at all. And it sounds like Stiles knows that."

The corner of Derek's mouth twitches into something that's not quite a smile. "Thanks," he says quietly. He knows that he can take his time with this, but it's nice to be 'given permission' so to speak.

Morrell smiles and shuffles her notes. "Have you spoken to either of your sisters recently?"

Derek flushes slightly, glancing away. "I spoke to Laura just before Christmas break, and she keeps texting me. I don't usually answer, though."

"Do you not think you should?"

"I know I _should,_ " Derek snaps, then makes himself calm down. "But... I can't. I don't know if it's habit now, or if it's still... guilt, or whatever, but I can't. And every time I _do_ talk to her, we end up fighting."

"About what?" Morrell asks.

"Visiting."

"You don't want to," Morrell surmises. "Maybe it's too soon, but you could build yourself up to it."

Derek laughs darkly. "It's been six years," he mutters. "I've been seeing you for two."

"You've seen them in that time," Morrell reminds him. "It's always been hard, but last time was particularly difficult, and it wouldn't be in your best interests for me to force you to go back there. How would you feel if they came here, instead of you going out to Beacon Hills?"

Derek hesitates. "It might be better," he says slowly, "but it's not really _where_ I see them that's the problem."

"Then what is?" Morrell asks.

"Me," Derek admits. "I can't help but feel guilty around them anytime the... the rest of the family gets mentioned, and then things get awkward again, and they never get better."

"Do you know if your sisters feel the same way?"

Derek shakes his head. "I've never asked them about it," he says. "But things always go quiet and tense whenever it's brought up."

"Do you feel like they blame you?"

Again, Derek hesitates. "I don't know," he admits. " _I_ blame me, we know that, but. We don't talk. Much."

"Okay." Morrell sits back and considers him for a moment or two. "How would you feel if I set you a task this month, to contact both of your sisters at least once without them contacting you first?"

Part of Derek wants to say no, fuck that, but... The larger part of him realizes that this can't keep going, that he _misses_ his sisters, but he doesn't know how to get them back. He worries his lower lip, then nods. "Okay. Just... emailing, or texting?" he asks for clarification; he's not sure he could make himself call them. 

"Whatever you're comfortable with," Morrell agrees.

"I'll do my best," Derek says. 

"And keep up your friendship with Stiles," Morrell adds. "Don't pull away from him just because he's glimpsed this part of you."

Derek nods. "I will," he promises. 

* * *

About a week after that, Stiles is once again sitting across from Derek in the library, and watching him. It's getting increasingly difficult to actually tear his gaze away and do his work during these study sessions, but this time he isn't just being a creeper with lovehearts in his eyes. He's looking at Derek in genuine concern.

"Hey," Stiles whispers finally, when the deep frown of frustration on Derek's face becomes the wide eyes of panic. "Hey! Are you okay?"

Derek startles, looking up from his laptop screen so quickly he hears something in his neck pop. "What?"

"You look like your laptop's about to explode!"

Derek runs a hand through his hair. "It's not, I mean - " He sighs, then tries again. "I haven't contacted either of my sisters in a long time. Usually they try to contact me once a month or so, but uh... Anyway, I just... sent an email to Cora. The younger one."

"And you're freaking out?" Stiles asks, looking sympathetic. "Why don't you just call her, rip the bandaid off?"

Derek shakes his head sharply. "No, I - I can't make myself do that. I'd say something, make it even worse than it is now. Least with an email I can look over it before I send it."

"So what did you say?"

Derek clicks a few things, then turns the laptop around so Stiles can see the screen. 

_From: dhale@gmail.com_

_To: c0raline-butt0neyes@gmail.com_

_Hello, Cora. I know it's been a while since we talked. How are you? How's South America?_

Stiles flicks his gaze briefly over the content of the email before turning the laptop back to Derek. "Doesn't sound too bad," he says. "A little formal, maybe, but I'm sure she won't mind. I bet she'll be really pleased to hear from you."

Derek's hand finds it way through his hair again. "I speak to her less than I do to Laura," he mutters. "Laura calls me once a month, and texts at least once a week. I occasionally answer the texts, and keep the phone calls as short as possible. I haven't really... kept up with them. I know Laura's back in California, and I've been back a few times but..." He huffs. "I don't ever contact them."

Stiles nods. "Then she'll definitely understand what a big deal this is," he says, smiling. "Don't look so nervous, dude. There's no way she's going to tell you to fuck off."

"You never know with Cora," Derek mutters, turning his laptop around - then promptly panicking again when his inbox chimes with Cora's reply. "Shit that was fast, I - you read it." Derek all but flings his laptop at Stiles, heart pounding. 

Again, Stiles scans the email quickly, his brow furrowed in concentration.

_From: c0raline-butt0neyes@gmail.com_

_To: dhale@gmail.com_

_Hey big bro, it's been a while. I'm great, and south america is amazing. How about you? How's the big apple?_

Once he's read it, Stiles can only smile as he pushes the laptop back over to Derek. "Told you not to worry. You should email back."

Derek reads the email, then swallows, throat clicking. "Okay. Yeah. I sent the first email, I should probably reply..." But his hands just hover over the keyboard, nor doing anything, and he looks to Stiles with wide eyes. "What do I say?"

"You answer her question," Stiles says simply. "Tell her how you are."

Derek isn't sure why he'd thought the answer would be anything different. "Right. Okay," he mutters, biting his lip as he starts typing. 

_From: dhale@gmail.com_

_To: c0raline-butt0neyes@gmail.com_

_It's still as hectic as ever, but that's kinda the best thing about it. Easy to be anonymous. How is your grad program coming? See any interesting reptiles?_

Either Cora's reply doesn't come through right away, or Derek is calm enough to read it himself. "You gonna be okay?" Stiles asks.

Derek takes a deep breath. "I don't know," he says truthfully. "Maybe?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Derek shrugs. "It's just been forever since I've really talked with either of my sisters. I've spent most of my adult life out here, away from my family."

"Well, this might be a way to get back into the swing of things." Stiles smiles. "If that's what you want?"

Derek doesn't reply for a moment, then he says, "I at least want to get back in touch with Laura and Cora. Peter, not so much."

Stiles nods, assuming that Peter is a brother or perhaps a stepdad. "Well, take it one step at a time," he advises. "We lost touch with my mom's family after she died, but one day maybe a year ago I found one of my cousins on Facebook and shot her a message. Now we're going out to Poland over the summer."

Derek nods. "Thanks," he says, offering Stiles a smile. 

Stiles smiles back. "Anytime."

* * *

The next day finds Derek biting his lip ( _I really need to quit doing that; Mom always used to -_ ) as he tries to summon the courage to call the number that Dr. Morrell gave him for an agent; the only name on the card is Braeden, and Derek wonders if its the agent's first or last name. Eventually, he dials, and then paces anxiously as he waits for it to connect.

The call is answered what feels like a second before the machine is due to kick in, and a female voice says, "Hello?"

Derek, already mentally rehearsing the message he was going to leave, is caught off guard. "Wha- Oh, um, hi; my name is Derek Hale. I was given this number by Dr. Morrell, and I'm looking for a Braeden? That's the only name on the card - "

"Because that's my name," Braeden says, a smile in her voice. "Dr. Morrell told me to expect your call, Mr. Hale. How can I help you?"

"Well, uh, she set me an assignment, to write a story, try to help work with stuff, but it ended up being really really long? And she suggested I think about getting it published, and I, I don't really know what that would involve and all, so I guess I'm just trying to gather information, see if it's something I might be comfortable with?"

"I could definitely help you with that," Braeden muses. "Dr. Morrell told me about your novel, and I have to say I'm intrigued. Would you be willing to send me the manuscript, Mr. Hale?"

Derek rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "It's... personal, you know? Can you just give me an idea of what would happen if you liked it? I mean, I don't want to really share this with more people than I have to, right now."

"Well, I would encourage you to allow me to put out some feelers, see if I can get a few publishers to express an interest in your novel, and then we'd go from there."

"Okay," Derek says. "Would there be a way for me to publish this anonymously? Like, with a pen name or something?"

"Of course," Braeden says, "if that's what you need. A complete pseudonym or some variation of your own name, whatever you're most comfortable with."

Derek asks Braeden a few more questions, gets a few more answers, and eventually he decides, "Okay. Let me grab a pencil and a piece of paper to write on, and I'll send you the manuscript. It's not really edited much or anything, though, fair warning."

"That's what I'm here for," Braeden says. "I can suggest any changes that need to be made in order to get it ready to send out, and then the publisher you choose will assign you an editor who can do the rest." She rattles off her email address and makes Derek read it back to her. "Thank you very much, Mr. Hale. I'll give it a read when you send it through and contact you in a few days to discuss your options."

"Thank you for speaking with me," Derek answers; he's a bit shocked to realize that he actually feels _excited_ about this. "I look forward to hearing from you."

* * *

It's a week before Derek hears from Braeden again, and when the call comes through he's in the middle of the library with Stiles. The librarian appears out of nowhere to shush them and glare at Derek, who looks terrified, but Stiles just grins and kicks Derek's foot lightly beneath the table. It's probably Derek's sister or something. "Go on," he whispers, jerking his head in the direction of the door. "Go answer it."

Derek all but flies out the doors; that librarian never liked him all that much while he was in college, and he doesn't want to give her any more reason to hate him. "Hello?" he answers as soon as he's outside, voice slightly breathless.

"Hello, Mr. Hale? It's Braeden. I read your manuscript."

"Hi, Braeden," Derek says and hopes he doesn't sound too nervous. "Did you get a chance to read over it?"

"I just said that I did," Braeden chuckles. "I loved it. I already have a few publishers in mind."

"Oh, right," Derek says, chuckling nervously - then the rest of Braeden's sentence sinks in. "Wait, you did? You do?"

"Yep." Braeden pops the P. "For your own consideration, of course. I won't contact anyone without your permission - but, for what it's worth, I really think it'd be a good idea."

Derek hesitates. "Who do you have in mind?"

The smile is evident in Braeden's voice when she says, "Get a pen and some paper."

* * *

Derek selects a publisher, and Braeden gets the ball rolling. Derek now spends his time at the library with Stiles working on the suggestions his editor, Kali(who's fucking vicious but really good at her job, catching things that Derek would never have seen) has brought up. They still go out on coffee dates - even though Derek is _very_ careful not to use the word 'date' around Stiles - and they grow closer as the school year goes on. Much closer. It frightens Derek a little, but he tries not to let it get to him. He gradually lets Stiles see more about his life, though the very personal things stay hidden for now. 

Finals come and go(and Derek gets pretty concerned about how much caffeine Stiles consumes) and soon enough it's their last meeting of the spring semester at the library. "So," Derek says, aiming for casual. "Are you going back to California?"

"Yep," Stiles says, grinning. "What about you? I saw that text you got from Cora asking if you were going home for the summer."

What Stiles hadn't seen was Derek's declination, and Cora’s disappointed response. Derek shakes his head, explaining, "Work's picking up, and I need to be on hand to be easily contacted."

Stiles pulls a face. "That sucks," he says. "Were they disappointed?"

Derek shrugs one shoulder. "They always are."

Stiles doesn't quite know what to say to that, so he just nods. "Maybe they could make it out here?" he offers awkwardly.

Derek shrugs again. "They might," he allows, even though he highly doubts it. "You looking forward to a few months with no school?"

"Very much so," Stiles says brightly. "I'm super excited to see Scott again, and to find out if he's managed to set up that threesome yet."

Derek laughs, remembering when Stiles had told him about that. "You really think that's a possibility?"

Stiles shrugs. "Maybe," he says. "It sounded like Allison was interested, and Scott was definitely up for it. Polyamory is a thing, y'know? It doesn't sound like a particularly Scott thing, but it might be."

"Yeah, I know it's a thing," Derek says, nodding. "But from everything you've told me about Scott and Allison, I was just a little surprised. But I suppose it makes sense, in a way."

"I don't really understand it either," Stiles admits, grinning. "But whatever makes them happy is good with me, I guess. As long as this Isaac guy isn't a douchebag."

Derek tilts his head. "Isaac? That's the other guy's name?"

"Isaac Larry or something, yeah," Stiles says. "Or was it Lay... I don't know. Isaac, we'll stick with Isaac."

Derek hums thoughtfully, but lets the subject drop. "Well, as long as you don't have to listen to him angsting over it," he says with a slight laugh. 

"I listened to him angsting over Allison for months before they got together," Stiles says dryly. "I think I deserve a break."

Derek grins. "Well, here's hoping he sorted it all out while you were over on this side of the country."

Stiles nods, smiles. "You gonna call me over the summer?" he asks. "Or will you be too busy?"

Derek smiles. "I'm sure I'll find the time to at least text," he teases. 

Stiles doesn't bite. "I'll look forward to it," he says sincerely. "Might even miss you a little."

That makes Derek's expression soften. "Me, too," he says quietly. 

And that's way too serious for Stiles, in whom Derek has never shown any interest outside of the casual-friendly variety. He laughs and looks down, and just manages to force out a somewhat strangled, "You'd better."

This is why Derek doesn't usually do in-person goodbyes; luckily, before he can shove his foot any further into his mouth, he's saved by his phone ringing. "Shit," he swears, glancing at the clock. "I'm sorry, I have a meeting I need to get to." A meeting with Kali, but Derek's still keeping the whole author-in-progress thing a secret. "I'll text you or something later, okay?"

Stiles nods, pretends not to be disappointed - but he does look up and give Derek one last smile. "See you around."

Derek smiles back, and then bolts when his phone starts ringing in his hand again.

* * *

Kali is absolutely brutal in her editing, literally demanding perfection, but the end result? It makes it all worthwhile. Derek manages to keep up his emailing with Cora, even starts tentatively emailing Laura, and Dr. Morrell couldn't be more pleased with his progress. Derek spends his days writing and wandering New York, visiting with Erica and Boyd(Isaac went out of state over the summer, visiting a friend), and trying not to panic about the looming release date. He signs off on the final version, and then it's a matter of waiting for June 12th.

By June 20th, Derek's book is on the New York Times Bestseller list. By the end of August, it's number one, and Derek's been bullied into getting both a twitter and a tumblr account under his pen name - Lyall Mars - and he spends half his time on the internet now, when he's not writing. Derek's astonished that people like his book so much, and when even _Laura_ mentions how she's read his book, Derek has to hold in hysterical laughter. This book, this story, this thing that's meant to help him deal with the rest of his family's death, has spiraled out of his control, and he's not sure if he'll ever get control back.

One of the things that helps keep Derek sane is talking to Stiles. Stiles never brings up Derek's book, and Derek doesn't know if Stiles has read it - doesn't know whether he wants him to have or not - but he's grateful that at least _someone_ in his life isn't throwing his book in his face inadvertently. Derek learns that apparently yes, Scott and Allison and their friend Isaac(and Derek still wonders if _maybe_...) have decided to give the polyamory thing a shot, and that Stiles's dad has apparently been cheating on the diet Stiles set him, and Stiles frets about his dad's health almost constantly. Derek treasures each bit of information that Stiles gives him, and tries not to think about how utterly fucked he is.

Of course, then Stiles comes back to New York before the start of the next semester, and the first time Derek sees him, standing in line at the coffee shop they frequented all last semester, it feels like a punch to the gut. Stiles looks _good_ , impossibly better than he did the last time that Derek saw him, and Derek knows he's in trouble.

Stiles, for his part, has had a great summer. He'd worried at first when Scott told him that he and Allison were going to give things a go with Isaac that he'd never see his best friend again, that he'd spend the summer months lost and alone while he waited anxiously for his dad to get home and even more anxiously for the next message from Derek - but it had all been unnecessary. Sure, there had been a little pining at first - Scott was bad enough at keeping in touch when he just had Allison to occupy his time, but now that he has Isaac as well? It's not like he means to, but Scott kind of forgets Stiles exists sometimes - but then two things happened at once. Derek started texting back with more regularity, and _Bad Wolf Rising_ , Lyall Mars' debut novel, dropped. Honestly? It's the best thing Stiles has ever read. For the first time since his woefully embarrassing, angsty, _Twilight_ -filled early teens, Stiles understands the craze that has struck what seems like the entire world once again. There were fanfics and fancasts and roleplay blogs up the _very next day_ , because kids stayed up all night to finish it. And it's one hefty novel - it took Stiles three days to read it, but that's only because at certain points he could hardly see the words on the page through his tears. The second time, after he'd taken a few days to get his shit back together after that _epic_ closing chapter, he devoured it in one night. And then he'd set up his own roleplay blog.

He's actually too busy smiling at a response to his Hoechlin's latest angsty diary entry on his phone to notice that the new barista is ready for his order, so he completely misses Derek in his embarrassed flailing as he explains his over-complicated syrup requirements. The girl looks a little frightened, a little like she's sorry she asked, but she nods and gestures him to the other end of the counter, and it's then that Stiles notices Derek, standing apparently frozen in the doorway. Their gazes meet and Stiles waves excitedly, before turning to call to the barista that he'd like his coffee to sit in, please, and that he'll just be sitting over here, is that okay? The girl barely acknowledges him, but the table he's chosen is right in front of the counter, so he'll be able to keep an eye on her. He hurries over to the table and snags it just as some other guy starts to approach, and grins unapologetically as he throws his coat onto the second chair. The line is quite long, and the coffee shop is busy, so he's not taking the risk that someone will 'borrow' Derek's seat before he can get to it. Derek's joined the line now, so Stiles pulls out his book - he's on the third read-through, and he's taking it slow this time, savouring every last word - to wait.

Derek's order is simple, as always, and the poor batista looks like she's going to cry in relief when he just asks for a regular Americano. Derek himself has to bite back a groan when he sees what Stiles has in his hands. "I've seen so many people reading that it's not funny," he groans, sliding into his seat. "Is it really that good?"

"You mean you haven't read it?" Stiles demands. "Aw, man, it's incredible! I love it so much, you _have_ to read it. No spoilers, but the shit that goes down in this book... It's deep, dude. Deep shit. I think you'd like it. You can totally borrow my copy, but only after I've finished this read-through."

"No, that's alright," Derek says hastily. "I don't really have time to read something that big." _Not when I'm writing that book's sequel._ "How many times have you read it?"

"This is my third go," Stiles admits. "I'd have read it way more than that, only I spent most of the summer losing my shit over it."

"Losing your shit?" Derek prompts. 

Stiles looks at him like he's lost his mind. "Well, I'm not going to tell you _why_ ," he says. "You need to read it!"

Derek rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says. "I'll go pick up a copy."

Stiles lights up. "Really?" he asks, excited. "Great! Awesome!"

Derek can't help but smile. "Yeah, yeah. But you have to tell me everything about your summer. I know you didn't tell me everything about your summer."

And that's all the invitation Stiles needs to talk for the next two hours.

The first thing Stiles sees when he sits down in the library opposite Derek two days later is a copy of _Bad Wolf Rising_ sitting innocently on the table. It's in almost pristine condition, way different to Stiles' own battered copy, and Stiles would accuse Derek of not having read it if it weren't for the way the front cover lifts up just slightly. Stiles has to resist the urge to squeal like a little girl. "You read it?" he hisses instead. "Ohmygod, tell me _everything_!"

"Of course I read it," Derek says, and it's not even a lie. "I liked it; I think I get what you meant about it getting deep."

"Deep," Stiles agrees, nodding seriously. "I'm going to write an essay on it."

"Really?"

"Yep," Stiles says, grinning. "I'm gonna dedicate a whole three thousand words to symbolism and speculation on authorial intent."

"Why don't you practice it on me, make sure you still think it's a good idea?"

Stiles shrugs. "Well, I'm mostly going to talk about what the werewolves could be a symbol for. Drugs, maybe, or HIV. The author is brand new and hasn't given many interviews yet, so it's hard to see if it's autobiographical in any way, but werewolves and the supernatural in general have been used to express anxiety of some kind for centuries, whether those anxieties are personal or cultural. Maybe a comment on race or sexuality. Gender, even, although I think that one would be hard to argue."

"And the authorial intent?"

"It's obviously some kind of comment on society," Stiles says with a smile. "Everything is, these days. But I guess I'll have to argue for each possibility and weigh up the evidence, and reach a conclusion. Just going off of my initial readings, though, I'd go for sexuality, and maybe HIV as a result of that. Kind of a delayed reaction to the AIDS crisis. Although I can't explain the superpowers..."

Derek can't help but smile slightly; the 'superpowers' had, he thinks at least (and authorial intent is bullshit in his opinion, he didn't _intend_ anything besides working out his internalized problems), been a way to emphasize how different life was for these people now that 'tragedy' has struck, but that it could be turned into a good thing. "How would you argue that? Like, which scenes would you pick for evidence?"

"For it being HIV?" Stiles asks. "Well, I'd definitely draw on the spread of the werewolf 'virus', as it were, and how Tyler Posey is infected after he essentially exchanges fluids with Ian. It's also worth thinking about the anxiety they feel after Holland is attacked, as well as the obvious dangers that Tyler poses to his peers, especially his girlfriend, after he's been bitten. Hoechlin comes in pretty sharpish as the older, more experienced friend who also suffers from Tyler's affliction, which is super common in AIDS stories, and Tyler's initial rejection and even fear of Hoechlin can be linked in with that, too." Stiles grins. "As for the gay stuff, I think we can both agree that two of the main characters have massive boners for each other."

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Massive boners?" he echoes, slightly confused. He doesn't _remember_ writing any romance in besides Posey and Crystal. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Oh, I know Posey has a canonical girlfriend, but you have to admit that he and Dylan have _serious_ chemistry. Dylan would die for Posey, and he helps Posey come to terms with the whole werewolf-slash-HIV thing, but now that Posey is infected they're worlds apart, and Dylan can't ever understand what he's going through without becoming infected himself." He laughs. "It's so angsty I could _die_."

Huh. Derek had only written Posey and Dylan as best friends, but he can see where Stiles is coming from. "You make a good point, but I'm not sure I'd pin them as a couple," he says out loud. "What's your opinion on Hoechlin?" Derek can't help but be morbidly curious about Stiles's opinion of the character that Derek himself relates most closely to.

"Oh, I adore him," Stiles says without hesitation. "He's my favourite character by far. So dark and angry, so broken and burdened by guilt, but so kind and eager to be loved, to be redeemed. And I feel like the author makes it really clear that what happened isn't remotely Hoechlin's fault, but it's _so interesting_ that he can't see that, that he isn't allowed to see it."

Derek can't help a small smile at that; at least _someone_ managed to pick up on what Derek was trying to say. "Really? I've seen a lot of people hate on him online."

"That's mostly because of the Hobrien shippers," Stiles says flippantly. "The Hobrien shippers are assholes, so people attack Hoechlin to get at them, not because they hate the character. Either that or because they think he's stealing the show from Posey."

It takes Derek a moment to realize where Stiles is getting this 'Hobrien' word from. "Well that's stupid," he muses. "Posey is the 'main' character, but that doesn't mean he _has_ to have the spotlight all the time."

"Exactly," Stiles says. "Especially since Posey and Hoechlin are essentially the same character. Which, actually, is my one complaint. I don't know how that ever got past the editor."

Derek raises an eyebrow. "What, exactly, is your complaint?"

"The fact that they have the same first name," Stiles says, like it's obvious. "Talk about insulting. Like Mars thinks we can't work out for ourselves that they're foils for each other, that Posey is exactly what Hoechlin could have been if things had gone differently. The guy may be a literary genius, but he thinks his readership is dumb as hell."

Derek had actually had a debate with Kali about this; she'd brought up the same point, and Derek had pointed out that Posey's middle name, Garcia, could just as easily been his first, so if she wanted to change it... He still isn't quite sure why she'd backed down on it. Maybe Braeden had said something to her about it; Derek remembers complaining to the agent. "Well, maybe it has to do with why Mars wrote the book, not as a reflection of his opinion of the readers," Derek suggests carefully. "I thought that maybe Posey was who Hoechlin _could_ have been, if he didn't blame himself so much for what happened to his family."

"That's pretty much what I just said," Stiles points out. "But I maintain that I would have understood that without Hoechlin having the same name as Posey. If anything, it takes away from what individuality the characters do have, because you're always thinking about them in relation to each other." He hesitates. "Although maybe that's the point."

"And that's what I just said," Derek says, though it's without heat. "I think you _are_ meant to think about them together - maybe not all the time, but I think that's kind of the underlying thing. Hoechlin recognizes in Posey who he could have been, and he's trying to help Posey avoid becoming him because he knows how deep it goes, how it gets in your head." Derek flushes then, realizing he's probably said a bit too much, and hastens to add, "Anyway, that's what I got from it."

Stiles grins. "You should totally get on tumblr, wade in on the debates," he says. "It sounds like you really connected with it."

Derek shrugs. "Social media stuff confuses me," he says honestly. "I try to avoid it as much as possible."

"That's a shame," Stiles says. "I'll have to show you sometime."

Derek grins. "Maybe," he says agreeably. "But not today. What classes are you taking this semester?"

"Lit and history mostly," Stiles says. "I have a contemporary literature class, that's the one I want to talk about _Bad Wolf_ for. What about you?"

"I uh, graduated already," Derek says. "Like... before we met. I've been using the campus library because it's closer to my apartment."

Stiles blinks. "Oh," he says. "Cool."

Derek shrugs, sheepish. "It just... Never came up."

"No, I know," Stiles says with a smile. "I'm just surprised, is all. But I guess it makes sense. You're never as stressed around deadline season as I am."

Derek chuckles slightly. "No, but I sympathise," he says. "I had some hardass professors."

Stiles grins. "You'll have to give me some tips on how to survive."

Derek chuckles. "I can do that."

* * *

"I just can't believe how big this has gotten," Derek says, a bit exasperated. "This last royalty was even bigger than the one before it!"

"Are you complaining?" Morrell asks. "Does the attention your book is receiving make you uncomfortable?"

"Not... exactly?" Derek hedges. "I mean, I published under a pseudonym, so I'm not actually getting any attention for this - and I don't want any attention. I'm working on the next part, though, and... Well, a lot more of Hoechlin's past - _my_ past - is revealed in that one. And I guess part of me is worried that it won't live up to the expectations people are already developing."

"Do you feel like you have to write for them now, rather than yourself?"

Derek shakes his head. "Not really, no. But I do feel like I have to write them for myself - it doesn't feel... finished. I don't feel like I'm done with these characters, or like they're done with me."

"Then keep writing," Morrell encourages. "Write what you need to, not what your readership expects. When you publish, you'll either keep them or lose them, but I wouldn't worry too much about that. This exercise is still a therapeutic one, first and foremost. It's about what you get out of it more than anyone else."

Derek nods. "Okay. I can do that." He hesitates for a moment before saying, "Stiles has read it. And so has Laura. She sent a copy to Cora, too."

"Do they know you wrote it?"

"No, they don't. And there's not a chance in hell that I'll tell them."

"Why not?"

Derek shakes his head. "I don't know how Stiles would react, but I don't want to take the chance that it might... affect our relationship, I guess. But I don't want to tell Laura and Cora, mostly because I don't want them to jump to conclusions or something. This has actually been kind of helpful, but I worry that they wouldn't see it that way. That they might think I'm trying to profit off of what happened."

"I think you're projecting your own fears onto them," Morrell says. "Your sisters have been trying to understand you for years; wouldn't this novel allow them a unique insight into your own feelings about what happened?"

That brings Derek up short. He honestly hadn't considered that angle. "It... might," he allows, frowning slightly. 

"Maybe wait until the next one is published," Morrell suggests. "Especially if you're not sure how they would respond to the first. You said the second will delve more deeply into Hoechlin's psyche, so maybe that's the one they'll benefit the most from."

Derek nods. "Okay," he decides. "I'll see about telling them after the second one is released. Which will probably be sometime after the first of the year."

Morrell smiles. "I'll look forward to reading it."

* * *

It's no more than a week later that Stiles all but throws himself into the chair across from Derek, a peculiar expression on his face. Derek's still in a sweater - he's hot, but he's long since gotten used to it - and he absently starts picking at a loose thread as he eyes Stiles with a raised eyebrow. "You look expectant," he decides. "I'm not sure what to think of that."

Stiles huffs out a nervous laugh. "Good things, I hope," he says. "I've just been thinking, we should go for a drink sometime."

Derek blinks. "Drinks?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, feeling himself flush. "Like, my social life is seriously lacking apart from you, and we can't hang out in the library forever. I mean, unless that's exactly what you want us to do. In which case, just forget I ever asked and I'll buy you a coffee instead. Or you can buy it and I'll watch you drink it. Not in a creepy way, I just--"

" _Stiles,_ " Derek interjects, a fond smile on his face. "Drinks are fine with me."

Stiles has to force himself to stop and take a breath. "Oh," he says, a slow smile curving his mouth even as his cheeks continue to burn. "Okay. Really?"

"Really," Derek says, smiling. 

Stiles nods, and lets his smile spread into a grin. "Okay," he says. "Awesome."

Derek rolls his eyes, expression fond. "Awesome," he echoes. 

* * *

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" Stiles hisses into the phone that night. "No, seriously, what the _fuck_ is wrong with me? Why did I think that was a good idea? Drinks? Casual drinks as _friends_? Scott, I'm going to die!"

Scott laughs. "No, you're not," he disagrees. "If you survived asking Danny to Prom, you can survive this. I have faith in you, bro. Did you actually _say_ 'as friends'?"

Stiles hesitates. "Well, no," he says. "But it's not a date. It's not. Is it?"

"It could be."

"I can't handle this," Stiles whimpers. "He's never shown any interest in me like that. I don't even know if he likes guys! It _can't_ be a date."

"Well, if it goes good, then ask if he'd like to make it a date," Scott reasons. "From everything you told us about him, even if he doesn't like guys he won't hold it against you for asking."

"It'll still make things weird!" Stiles whines. He sighs. "I'll play it by ear, okay? But I'm not gonna get my hopes up."

"Okay. And I'll be here no matter what, okay? Call or text me."

"I will," Stiles promises. "Thanks, man."

"Anytime. Good luck!"

* * *

It seems, however, that Scott might have been wrong in his appraisal of the situation. Derek meets Stiles at the bar with Erica and Boyd in tow, along with another girl that Stiles hasn't met yet. "Hey, Stiles," Derek greets with an easy grin. "I want to introduce you to Kira - AKA the only reason I survived postgrad."

Stiles' stomach dropped the second Derek and the others walked through the door, but he does his best not to show it as he offers Kira a warm smile. "Nice to meet you," he says. "Umm, do you guys wanna grab a table?"

"Sure," Derek says; it's fairly easy to grab a table since it's still relatively early. While the others are distracted arguing over the menu, Derek turns his attention to Stiles. "I hope you don't mind; this is Erica's only night off this week, and she and Boyd rarely get to spend an evening out together or with friends. And Kira's been busy with postgrad stuff and hasn't had a chance to get out either."

"It's fine," Stiles says smoothly, with a shrug and a laugh with only the finest edge of self-deprecation. "It's not like this was a date or anything."

Something about Stiles's manner seems off, but nothing Derek can put his finger on. As such, he doesn't say anything besides, "Well, you did say you wanted to expand your social life."

"I said that I wanted to get out more," Stiles can't help but correct. "But, this is good too."

"Well, maybe you and I can do something then later this weekend?" Derek suggests. "We probably should get out of the library more."

Stiles gives Derek a barely-there smile. "Maybe," he says, and then turns his attention to Erica when she gracefully interrupts.

"Hey, Stilinski! What are you drinking?"

"The fruitiest, pinkest cocktail you can find for me," Stiles tells her, and Erica grins.

"Right answer. What about you, Derek?"

Derek shakes his head. "I'm sticking to beers," he says with a laugh. "You know how I get when I drink more than that."

Stiles grins. "I don't," he says. "Do tell."

" _No,_ " Derek says emphatically, shooting a quelling look at Erica. 

"He gets giggly and over-affectionate," Kiran says in a conspiratorial tone. "Like, hugging _everyone._ "

"Which is why we should _definitely_ get him drunk," Erica says, her eyes gleaming as she looks between Derek and Stiles.

Stiles falters. "I don't know," he says. "Maybe we should all take it easy."

Erica scoffs, getting to her feet. "Fuck that." She points at Derek. "You will drink whatever I give you," she instructs him, and then she flounces off to the bar.

Derek watches her go, more than a little fearful. "I don't think I dare go against her," he muses. 

Stiles gives him a consoling pat on the arm. "I'll make sure you don't embarrass yourself," he promises.

Erica comes back a few minutes later with a French martini for herself, a Purple Rain for Kira, a simple beer for Boyd and two glasses filled to the brim with a bright pink liquid. "Bubblegum," she announces as she places the glasses in front of Stiles and Derek. "Not very fruity, but _very_ pink."

Stiles leans closer to the glass cautiously, and notices that it appears to be... fizzing. _Okay._ He takes a cautious sip, and pulls back almost immediately to grin at Derek. "It has popping candy in it!" he cries. "You gotta try that!"

Derek raises an eyebrow before glancing at Erica. "Free coffee tomorrow for the hangover," he says firmly; it may be fun in the moment, but he also knows that he will get a hangover from hell. 

"Deal," Erica says. "I'll even throw in a breakfast muffin."

Derek reaches across the table to shake on it before picking up his drink. "Cheers."

They all watch him excitedly, Erica making sure he swallows, and as soon as he replaces it glass on the table, Stiles demands, "So what do you think? If you don't like it I'll drink it."

Derek shrugs. "Sweeter than I usually like," he admits. "I usually go for the fruitier things."

"Well, if you're feeling _fruity_ ," Erica says, with far more emphasis than Stiles can really justify, "then I can always get you a raspberry daiquiri. Or maybe a cherry one?"

Derek makes a face. "I hate cherry-flavored stuff. Never tastes right."

Erica looks weirdly disappointed. "Raspberry it is," she says, standing again. "Drink up, Stiles."

Stiles watches Boyd and Kira exchange a look, and then glances at Derek. "What was that about?"

Derek shrugs. "Since the cough syrup incident, I can't stand artificial cherry shit. I'm not sure why she was disappointed."

Stiles just shrugs, and reaches for his drink.

* * *

Erica is a woman on a mission, and within three hours Derek's drunk. Well and truly drunk. So drunk, in fact, that he's forgotten all about his 'no touchy Stiles' self-imposed rule, and is currently leaning very heavily on the other man. "Have I mentioned how much I love these drinks?" he says, then promptly laughs at himself. 

"Only about six times," Stiles says amiably as he peers down into his own empty glass. He hasn't matched Derek drink for drink, no one has, but he's still pleasantly buzzed, enough that he doesn't think twice about wrapping an arm around Derek's shoulders to support his weight. "Another round?"

Derek gives the suggestion some thought before he nods seriously. "I'll buy," he decides, but makes no move to leave Stiles's side. It feels nice, having the other's arm around him. 

Stiles interprets this as Derek being too drunk to stand up on his own, and he laughs. "Want me to come with you, big guy?"

Derek nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, yeah, let's go," he says excitedly. 

"Easy," Stiles laughs. He stands, and helps Derek to join him, and after taking orders from the others they wobble over to the bar.

The bartender has a soft, almost tender smile for them, and while he's fixing their drinks he says, "You're very cute together."

Stiles' brain shorts. "Umm."

Derek laughs at that - although part of him recognizes that he should be protesting. "Thank you," he says with a grin, letting himself slump into Stiles a bit more. "But he's not my boyfriend. He _is_ cute, though."

"Maybe he should be, then," the bartender says with a wink, and Stiles is _mortified_. "Why don't you two go sort out your UST and I'll bring your drinks over when they're ready?"

Derek grins, giving the bartender a salute before dragging Stiles back to their table. "UST?" he snickers, all but falling into his seat. "Who even says that in the real world?"

"Who was talking about UST?" Erica asks, somehow still razor-sharp after countless martinis.

"Just some delusional bartender," Stiles says, not quite glaring at the table. Derek isn't leaning on him anymore.

"Just a bartender," Derek agrees. "He's bringing our drinks over."

Kira glances at Stiles, taking in the expression on the other's face, and then exchanges looks with Erica and Boyd. "I'm going to take Derek home after this round," she announces. When Derek protests, she just ignores it. "He's had more than enough, and the hangover's gonna be bad enough as it is tomorrow."

"Probably for the best," Stiles agrees. "I'm getting tired anyway."

Erica and Boyd echo their agreements, and after they've finished off their last drinks, they start gathering coats and things and making their way to the front door. Derek stops Stiles with a hand on his wrist. "Hey," he says, uncharacteristically serious for the level of drunkenness he's currently inhabiting. "I had fun tonight."

Stiles gives Derek a soft smile. "So did I," he says.

"We should do this again," Derek says insistently. 

"We will," Stiles promises. "I'd really like that." He wants to say, _I really like you_ , but thankfully he's not that drunk. Totally drunk enough to call Scott in the cab home and cry about it, though.

* * *

When Erica serves Derek his free hangover coffee the next day, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like she didn't drink the bar out of Chambord last night, she takes one look at his face and slips into the seat opposite him. "You're really suffering today, huh?" she clucks sympathetically. "Maybe I shouldn't have let you drink quite so much."

Derek gives Erica a half-hearted glare. "How much did I even have to drink?" he groans, dragging the coffee closer. 

"I honestly don't know," Erica admits. "I stopped having to pour them down your throat after a while."

Derek groans loudly, letting his head drop to the table with a _thunk._ "Ow," he mutters. "Fine. Did I do anything majorly embarrassing?"

"You don't even remember?" Erica asks, smirking. "Nah, I don't think so. You told the bartender Stiles was cute, and you were all over him for the better half of the night, but that's about it."

"I did _what?!_ " Derek yelps. 

"You seriously don't remember? You were practically sitting in his lap."

This time, Derek actually bangs his forehead against the table. "Dammit."

"Is that a problem?" Erica asks.

"Well I didn't want to clue Stiles in to the fact that I like him by crawling into his lap while drunk!" Derek retorts. 

"If it helps, I think he's still oblivious," Erica says dryly. "That guy wouldn't catch on if you wrote it on a bed sheet and hung it in front of his face for a week.” 

"Well there's that," Derek murmurs. He's rather glad Stiles isn't here right now; how could Derek face him the day after doing all of that? 

"It wasn't that bad," Erica consoles him. "You were drunk and you were cuddly, it isn't like you were humping his leg. I think Stiles kinda liked it."

Derek looks at Erica with a pathetically hopeful expression. "You think?"

"Yeah," Erica insists. "Did you not see his face last night when you walked in with us, and _Kira_?"

"I really can't remember much of anything from last night," Derek confesses. 

"He looked like you'd kicked his dog, or left him out in the rain."

Derek mulls that over. "He never said anything about that being a date or anything though," he points out. 

"And he probably won't, considering you brought a cute girl to your little tête-à-tête."

Derek groans. He's been doing a lot of that this morning. "Dammit. But I _want_ to date him. If I'd known... "

"Does this mean you're going to say something?" Erica asks. "It's not too late."

"I - maybe? He doesn't know about... y'know, though."

Erica sighs. "That is an issue," she concedes. "Do you not want him to know?"

"It's nice knowing that he doesn't," Derek says quietly. "Knowing that when he looks at me, the fire never crosses his mind. I don't want what we have to change, if it means that he learns about the fire and starts treating me weirdly because of it."

Erica doesn't look impressed by that. "You really think he would?"

Derek shakes his head after a moment’s thought. "I don't," he admits. "But it's... That fear is something I've been working on."

"Take your time," Erica advises. "If he's worth his salt, he'll wait for you."

Derek nods. "You're right," he decides. "And I need more coffee." With that, the conversation is closed.

* * *

Derek doesn't see Stiles until Tuesday, when he creeps into the library and sits down across from Derek with more stealth than he ever has before. The librarian doesn't even look up when he passes her desk. "Hey," Stiles whispers softly. "How are you?"

Derek looks up from where he's been struggling with a chapter of the sequel to _Bad Wolf Rising._ He gives Stiles a tight, wan smile. "Stressed," he whispers back. "You?"

"Same," Stiles admits. "Want to talk, or should I leave you alone?"

Derek waves a hand at his computer. "It's just this... report I have to write. For work. It's just messing with me." In truth, this is the part where Hoechlin overhears Ian detailing exactly what he knows about Hoechlin's past to Dylan, which prompts Dylan to go to Hoechlin directly. Derek's not looking forward to that part. 

Stiles looks sympathetic. "The essay I'm writing about _Bad Wolf Rising_ is kicking my ass," he admits. "I have too much to say."

"Is there a word count or page limit?" Derek asks curiously. 

"Unfortunately," Stiles says. "And I have to have a certain percentage of secondary criticism to back up my points, but because the novel is so new there's next to nothing out there."

Derek winces. "Yeah, that would make your job a bit more difficult." He thinks for a second, then sends an email to Braeden; she's been keeping a better eye on this sort of thing than Derek has. "I might have seen something like that online somewhere, hang on."

Stiles perks up. "Really? Usually my Google-fu is amazing, but if you can find something I'll definitely bow down to your superior skills."

Derek offers Stiles a half-smile, but gets distracted by his inbox pinging. "Here," he says, copying the links Braeden sent him and sending them in an email to Stiles. 

Stiles opens the email excitedly and squeaks. "You're a lifesaver!"

Derek grins. "You're welcome."

Stiles lets Derek get back to work after that, and spends a good couple of hours alternately rolling around in the links Derek sent him and making serious headway on his essay. It's around the two hour mark when he becomes aware that Derek is saying his name. He immediately stops mouthing and bopping along to Fall Out Boy and looks up, blushing. "Sorry, I was really into it. What's up?"

Derek grins. "Nothing, I was just thinking - Do you want to get drinks this weekend maybe? Just you and me, no Erica pushing us into making questionable drinking choices?"

Stiles' eyes widen. "Uhh, sure."

Derek's grin softens a little bit into a pleased smile. "Great. We can figure out a time later?"

Stiles nods, painfully aware of the way his cheeks are heating up. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

They decide on Friday night; neither of them have anything to do Saturday morning, so if they stay out late or if they do end up drinking more than is strictly wise, they won't have to worry about work or classes the next morning. They go to the same small bar as the first time, though there's a different bartender( _Thankfully,_ Derek can't help but think.) this time. Derek gets there first, though only just. He hasn't even selected a table yet when he spots Stiles coming in the door, and since it's a Friday night, there's already a decent crowd at the bar that Derek has to push his way through to reach Stiles. "Hey," he says, grinning. "Table or booth?"

"Booth," Stiles says, grinning. "It'll be quieter over there."

Derek nods. "Wise choice." He leads the way, parting the crowd for Stiles as they seek out a free booth. Derek spots one, and they grab it quickly. "Okay," Derek says, all but throwing himself into the seat. "Maybe Friday wasn't the best night for this."

"It's an experience," Stiles laughs. "The best part will be trying to get to the bar."

Derek grins at that. "I'll go grab first round?" he offers. 

Stiles nods. "Whatever you're having."

Derek fetches them both some fruity drinks along with some snacks; when he returns, there's only a slightly awkward pause before they manage to get a conversation started, and from there the time flies. They end up staying for a few hours, though they never move past tipsy. When they finally decide it's time to leave, Derek insists on paying for most of the drinks. They end up hovering just outside the door, standing just a little too close to each other. "So, I had a good time tonight," Derek says, a bit awkwardly. "Maybe we should do it again?"

"Yeah?" Stiles asks, a soft smile on his lips. "I'd like that. I like spending time with you."

"Me, too," Derek says. "But with you."

Stiles huffs a soft laugh, but sobers quickly. He hesitates, bites his lip. "I wanna try something, is that okay?"

Derek nods without hesitation. "Of course. I trust you."

Stiles smiles. "That's good," he murmurs. "That's really good." And then he kisses him.

Derek's just on the side of tipsy that makes him unsurprised when Stiles kisses him, and he hums into the kiss, letting his hands come up to frame Stiles's face. When they pull apart a moment later, Derek's smiling. "That was good."

Stiles is flushed despite the chill in the night air, and he's still smiling, too. "Can I do it again?"

Derek wants to say yes, and the word is right on the tip of his tongue - but then he remembers that there's a really big issue in the way. "No," he says instead, regretful. "I - there's things we need to talk about, Stiles."

The light in Stiles' eyes dies, and he pulls back. "You're not into guys," he says dully. "Or you're just not into me."

"It's not that," Derek says hastily. "It's - me. I'm not really looking for a relationship right now."

"Right," Stiles says. His heart is pounding, adrenaline coursing through his system as his body begins to favour 'flight' over 'fight'. "I think I should go."

Derek doesn't do anything to stop him. 

* * *

Stiles doesn't hear from Derek all weekend, and is too busy wallowing in humiliation and self-pity to even think about contacting him. It's a bit of a shock, therefore, when Derek's text comes through after work on Monday.

 **Hey, Stiles. Can we talk?**

Stiles doesn't hesitate.

**Sure. What's up?**

**I - I need to talk to you in person. This isn't something that should be done over text.**

**When/where?**

**Tonight? There's a cafe near campus, called the Crowned Rose.**

**I'll be there.**

* * *

The Crowned Rose is a quaint little cafe, one that Derek has been going to for years. He and Stiles agreed to meet at about seven, and Derek shows up a few minutes early, trying to finish sorting out what he actually wants to say to Stiles, to try to explain to him why Derek acted the way he had a few days ago. He's still deep in thought when Stiles walks in, and Derek offers him a careful smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Stiles returns, taking the seat opposite Derek. He looks good, and Stiles hopes he doesn't look like shit in comparison. "How's it going?"

Derek shrugs. "It could be going better," he says, stating the obvious. "I wanted to explain what I said on Friday."

Stiles' expression softens. "You don't have to explain," he says. "You don't owe me anything, really."

Derek shakes his head. "No, I know - but you deserve to know why." He takes a deep breath, fiddling with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "You remember that scar you saw, a while back? On my neck?"

Stiles nods, but he still looks unsure. "Derek, you don't have to."

"I want to," Derek says quietly, and it's not even a lie. He wants Stiles to know what happened. "I was about sixteen, and we lived in an older house. We'd been meaning to remodel, update some safety features, but there was an accident. Some wiring shorted out - mice, the inspectors thought. Being in an older house, it wasn't as good in terms of fireproofing, and the alarms were several years old. By the time the alarms went off, the whole first floor was in flames. My bedroom was in the middle of the first floor, and I ended up pinned to the bed by a falling beam. 

"When the firefighters and rescue squad showed up, they did everything they could. Laura and Cora were gone, visiting relatives, but my uncle, Peter, and I were the only survivors. The second floor and the attic collapsed onto the first floor shortly after they got us out, trapping everyone else. Peter spent five years in a coma, and his scars are worse than mine. I had to have extensive skin grafts, but there wasn't much doctors could do for the scarring. I've got scars all over my chest, most of my left side and arm, and from my stomach down to my thighs." Derek's quiet for a moment, throat working, and then he continues in a quiet voice, "Peter got a coma, I got a fucking massive case of survivor's guilt. And Laura and Cora got saddled with us. I moved out here as soon as I could, just to get away. I couldn't handle being around them, not when I felt like I'd stolen our family from them."

"That's why you were so nervous about trying to reconnect with your sister," Stiles says softly. "Derek, I... I don't know what to say."

"That's also why I'm not looking for a relationship," Derek adds. "I - I'm seeing a therapist for my issues, but it wouldn't be fair to subject someone else to them. And I've got major self-confidence issues because of the scars - they're bad. Really bad. I just don't feel like it'd be a good idea to pursue anything other than friendship right now."

Stiles sighs, nods. "I understand," he says. "I'd really like to still be your friend, though."

"I'd like that, too," Derek says reassuringly. "I like being your friend, and I don't want to lose that anymore than you do."

Stiles manages a weak but heartfelt smile. "Thank you for telling me," he says. "I swear I won't repeat anything you said."

"I know," Derek says, "but thank you."

* * *

It takes another week for Kira to meet up with Erica and Boyd. "So," she says, bringing over drinks for the three of them; she's just gone on break and she intends to use it to form a plan of attack. "Derek and Stiles. Derek's been acting weird, and Stiles is way too quiet around him now."

"I don't know what happened," Erica says, glancing pointedly at Boyd. "But _he_ does."

Boyd sighs. "Stiles and Derek went out for drinks a week ago. Stiles kissed Derek."

Erica lets out a low whistle. "Shit," she says. "Did Derek fuck it up?"

"He told Stiles about the fire, then said he wasn't looking for a relationship," Boyd answers. "So, yes."

Erica kicks Boyd under the table. "How could you keep this from me?" she demands. "How do we fix it?"

"Because Derek said he had it under control," Boyd retorts, rubbing his leg. 

"Well clearly neither of them are handling this well," Kira reasons. "So we do need to intervene. But honestly, I know Derek won't take too kindly to us locking them in a closet or something."

"So do we take them out again?" Erica asks. "Get them drunk and see what happens?"

Kira frowns. "I don't know that that would be a good idea," she says slowly. "Maybe we split and confront them separately, see what they'll tell us?"

Erica nods seriously. "And then get them drunk."

"Alcohol has caused more problems than it's solved in this situation," Boyd points out. 

"You really think they're going to willingly talk about this with each other sober?"

"She's got a point," Kira says reluctantly. "But maybe not get them drunk together?"

Erica frowns. "Keep talking."

"Well, they need to talk about this, but they won't trust us if we bring them to the same place. So what if we take them different places, then suggest they call each other?"

"That's brilliant!"

"We'll need to try to do damage control, maybe," Boyd says thoughtfully. "But that could work."

"So when should we do it?" Erica asks. "Sooner rather than later, I think."

"Definitely sooner," Kira agrees. "Derek's schedule is pretty much clear, the only things set in stone are his doctor appointments."

"What about this weekend, then?"

"That could work," Boyd says thoughtfully. "Kira, do you want to take Derek?"

"Yeah, I can do that."

"I'll take Stiles," Erica says with a sly smile. "He likes me."

Boyd rolls his eyes while Kira nods. "Then we have a plan."

* * *

Derek would be lying if he said he wasn't a _little_ suspicious when Kira insisted on dragging him out for drinks, but he lets himself be dragged anyway; maybe she'll help him get his mind off of how spectacularly to shit things have gone with Stiles. Stiles doesn't treat him like glass, isn't mean in any way, but he's been acting oddly ever since the kiss and their meeting. 

He and Kira have a good time, and maybe Derek drinks a little more than is wise, but he doesn't think anyone will hold it against him. What someone could hold against him, however, is the fact that he takes Kira's not-so-subtle hint to call Stiles. Yeah, not his best decision. 

Stiles is at home drinking with Erica when the call comes through, and he's already a good way toward being blind drunk. The problem is, he's apparently kind of a weepy drunk, especially in light of the tension that's existed between him and Derek ever since the kiss. He whines at Erica and waves the still-ringing phone in her face until she takes it from him. Rather than take pity on him, however, she just accepts the call and presses it back into his hand. He whimpers, mortified, but at the icy look she gives him puts the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"I miss you," Derek opens up with, followed by "I keep thinking about the kiss."

Stiles whines again, and Erica starts slowly packing up her things. "Me too, Derek," he sighs, "but you said no."

"I know I did," Derek mutters. "But I think that was a stupid decision on my part. I wanna kiss you again."

Erica is suddenly gone, and Stiles can't breathe. "You do?"

"Yeah, I do," Derek says, waving bye to Kira, who's attempting to sneak out the door. "Wanna kiss you other places, too." He laughs at himself then, confessing, "I am really drunk, did you know that?"

"S'okay," Stiles laughs, "so am I. Do you wanna come over?"

Derek doesn't hesitate before he says, "Yes."

"Just to talk," Stiles warns. "We should... we should talk."

"Just talking," Derek agrees already packing up his stuff. "Just talking."

* * *

They don't talk. In fact, they hardly say a word to each other before they're kissing furiously, pulling at each other's clothes, and falling into bed. Stiles isn't quite sure how it happens, but it does, and it's nothing like he thought it would be. On the phone, Derek had sounded as lost and miserable as Stiles felt, but by the time he gets to Stiles' apartment something has evidently changed. They go at each other with a passion, a ferocity that Stiles hadn't known either of them were capable of, and he normally wouldn't complain, except that Derek is almost... mean.

He makes Stiles turn the lights off when they finally make it into the bedroom, won't let him so much as open the curtains to let some moonlight in once they're both naked. Stiles can kind of understand that - Derek has mentioned his scars, and Stiles has seen some of them already - but when they get onto the bed, he won't let Stiles touch him. He pays Stiles plenty of attention, touches him all over and is almost tender when he fingers Stiles open, but he gets annoyed whenever Stiles tries to return the favour, tries to so much as touch his face. Stiles pushes the issue, whispers that the scars don't bother him, but that just leads to Derek turning Stiles over so that he can't even see Derek, much less reach out for him.

It's fast and hard and over too soon, and afterwards Stiles can't even remember if he came. He knows that Derek did, only because the moment it was over he pulled out and stomped off to the bathroom. Stiles is waiting for him to come back now, feeling impossibly vulnerable, cold and naked in his own bed and beyond embarrassed. What the hell was that? What did it mean?

He supposes he'll just have to ask.

As it turns out, he doesn't even have to do that. While in the bathroom, Derek's been thinking, and he doesn't like what he comes up with. He returns to the bedroom with a washcloth, which he hands to Stiles. "This was a mistake," he says, flat and without eye contact as he searches for his clothes. "I shouldn't have even come here." For fuck's sake, Derek hadn't even thought to reach a hand around to get Stiles off. 

Stiles recoils like he's been struck, and stares at Derek. "You're kidding me, right?" he demands. "You called me, Derek!"

"I know I did," Derek snaps. "That was a mistake, too!"

"Then why are you even still here?" Stiles asks. "If it was so awful, being with me, then leave."

Derek finishes with his belt as Stiles finishes speaking, and part of him wants to snap at the other man, snarl something, but all he can say is, "I'm sorry," before he follows Stiles's suggestion and hightails it out of the apartment. 

Stiles can do nothing but watch him go.

* * *

Derek and Stiles avoid each other after that, and Derek refuses to talk to Kira, Erica, or Boyd about what happened beyond that whatever they planned didn't pan out. 

A couple of weeks after the ill-advised fuck finds Derek back in Dr. Morrell's office, and he finds himself saying, "I had sex with Stiles."

Morrell's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. "Really," she says. "I thought you'd agreed to stay friends."

"We did," Derek says miserably. "Then our friends decided to meddle. Got us both drunk and then we - well, mostly I - made stupid decisions."

"What makes sleeping with Stiles a stupid decision?"

"Sleeping with him wasn't the stupid part - doing it while we were drunk was. And the way we - The way _I_ made us do it - wasn't... good."

Morrell drops her pen, folds her arms. "Explain."

Derek sighs. "I wouldn't let him turn any lights on, or really touch me," he confesses. "We haven't really spoken or seen each other since."

"And how long ago was this?"

"Two and a half weeks or so."

Morrell sighs. "Do you know why you behaved like this?"

Derek shrugs. "I know part of it was I didn't want him touching or seeing my scars," he admits, "but I don't know why I was so... _mean_ about it."

"Then I think that's what we need to know," Morrell says. "Was it a conscious decision to behave like that?"

"I don't think so?"

"Have your other encounters with men been like this?"

"Sort of?" Derek hedges. "They were all in clubs, and just, yknow, open the fly and have at it."

"But this sounds different," Morrell pushes. "If it was just a hurried hand job in a back alley, you wouldn't be worrying about how _mean_ you were."

"I know that," Derek snaps, defensive, before making himself take a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I mean, I know that I wouldn't worry about it if it were anyone else. But it's not news to me that I like Stiles."

"Well, the simple answer here seems to be to call him, tell him you're sorry. You can't know how to go forward if you don't know how he'll take an apology."

Derek groans. "I know that, but at the same time... _I_ wouldn't forgive me for what I did. Hell, I didn't even make sure he got off."

"The guilt you carry is an issue I fear we'll be working on for quite some time," Morrell concedes. "But this particular issue is all the more pressing, because unlike your sisters, Stiles doesn't have to wait for you to deal with it. I want to see you every other week for the next month or so, to work with you on this. How does that sound?"

Derek nods. "That sounds good," he answers. 

Morrell sighs. "Okay," she says. "Is there anything else you want to talk about today?"

"The second book is due to be released in a month and a half," Derek says. "I'm a bit nervous."

"Of its reception?" Morrell asks. "Or have you decided to tell your sisters the truth?"

"Both, sort of," Derek says. "I'm planning on telling them I wrote the books after they've read the second one."

Morrell nods. "Do you feel like the process of writing the second book has helped you?"

Derek nods after a moment's thought. "It was hard, but it did help."

Morrell smiles. "I'm glad," she says. "Now all you have to do is take that forward, and try to learn how to help yourself day-to-day."

"I'll try," Derek promises. 

* * *

The sequel to _Bad Wolf Rising_ is released on New Year's Day, and Stiles has it in his hands the very next morning. He's back at home for Christmas again, didn't even bother to tell Derek that he was leaving, and honestly, he needs the distraction. He devours the book in a day and a half, cries all over it - loudly and in front of his father - and then flips straight back to the first page.

This book is very different to the first, but it's just as amazing, if not more so. There's a lot of very interesting character development, especially with regards to Hoechlin - which, while Stiles delights in it, was kind of unexpected. Hoechlin is not the main character, although he's certainly stolen the show where the fans are concerned. Maybe this sudden delving into the depths of Hoechlin's psyche was intended all along, maybe it's just shameless fan service. Either way, Stiles doesn't care; he cries like a baby during almost all of Hoechlin's scenes, so he's more than happy.

He's also intrigued by the development of Dylan's character, especially his relationship with Hoechlin. Mars has yet to give away much of Dylan's back story, but he seems able to relate to Hoechlin's pain and guilt on a personal level, and the two grow closer as a result of that. Stiles is well aware that Hobrien is the main ship in the fandom, but he's never really seen it before, has always been more interested in the potential for romance between Dylan and Posey. Until now.

It isn't until his third read-through, in the middle of the night on the plane back to New York, that Stiles spots it. There's a section of the book, where Hoechlin is talking about his past, that seems... uncomfortably familiar. It reads like this:

 _For once, Hoechlin is actually grateful for how secluded the abandoned train station is. It means that there's no one to eavesdrop as he confesses, "It was my fault," to Dylan and Tyler. "The fire. Jillian lit the match, but I let her in."_

_It's easy to read the confusion, then slowly-dawning understanding and horror on the faces of the two teenagers. Hoechlin finds that he can't look at them, instead staring at his hands as he spills the whole sordid story. "I didn't realize she was a hunter; she was older, she was attractive, and she seemed interested in me. Never even freaked about the werewolf thing, which should have been my first clue." A deep breath, slowly in, even slower out, and then: "I slept with her, then told her everything she wanted to know afterwards. Every weakness, every security measure, everything. I handed my family to her on a silver platter, and she destroyed it."_

_"How did you and Haley escape?" Dylan asks quietly, voice gentle. Never pushing, not when it comes to this. Always understanding that something like this, it can't just be blurted out. It has to be pulled out, slowly and carefully, though no less painfully - like a shard of glass embedded in flesh. Except that Hoechlin has a habit of shoving that shard back in after he's taken it out._

_"We didn't," Hoechlin answers, glancing up and then away, gaze sliding from theirs. "I was at basketball practice, was going to spend the night at a friend's. Haley was at work. It was late when the fire started, and she was just getting off of work. Showed up at my friend's house almost completely shifted, eyes red. We didn't bother with the car." Hoechlin has to take a moment to steady his breathing, air dragging in and out of his lungs, loud in the silence of the station before he is able to say, "By the time we got to the house, the firefighters had done everything they could, and Ian was being taken away in the ambulance. The investigation never went anywhere."_

_"Until this year," Tyler says helpfully, expression earnest, and Hoechlin can't help but give him a quick half-smile._

_"Until this year," he agrees. "The official ruling was an accident, electrical short in an old house, but I knew the truth, and blamed myself for it. I don't know if I'll ever stop blaming myself."_

It's at this point, Stiles realises, that he stopped seeing himself in Hoechlin. Sure, he's had his own fair share of shitty things happen to him, but Hoechlin's past is nothing that Stiles can hold a candle to. In fact, the only person who Stiles can think of that would be able to hold a candle to that level of trauma is-- _No._ Stiles can't go there. If he starts to see Derek in Hoechlin, he'll ruin the entire series for himself. He won't be able to open either book without seeing Derek staring out at him from the pages; won't be able to read a line of description or dialogue from Hoechlin without analysing it for clues as to how to understand Derek. Because it's not that Stiles doesn't _want_ to understand Derek; it's just that he isn't ready to.

So Stiles does the best thing he knows how. He shoves this unwanted connection to the furthest corner of his mind, puts the book down, and goes to sleep.

* * *

Erica finds Stiles a few days after the new semester begins, and she approaches him determinedly. This is long overdue, she knows, but better late than never. "Stiles," she says with a tight smile, approaching his table in the library - not the same one that he and Derek used to share, she notes. "Hey."

Stiles doesn't look up. "Erica, I'm sorry, but I'm really busy here. It's nice to see you but could we do this another time?" _Like never?_

"No," Erica says firmly, sitting in the chair across from Stiles. "You've been avoiding all of us, Stiles. I won't say you're wrong to do that, but I will say that we're sorry. We shouldn't have interfered."

Stiles sighs, shakes his head. "It's fine," he says. "At least now I know where I stand."

Erica frowns. "I know things went badly," she says slowly, "and I know that's mostly because Derek fucked up. Where do you think you stand?"

"I don't know how much you know, Erica, but it was awful," Stiles says. "You don't treat someone you care about like that. Or, if you do, then it's for the best that you stay away from each other. Either way, I'm not good for him."

Erica's expression softens. "I'm not going to try to make excuses for Derek," she replies. "What he did was shitty. But I do know that he's been positively miserable ever since, and rightfully kicking himself. He won't tell us why he acted the way he did, but I think that's between you two. Just - don't write him off too quickly, okay? Make him beg for forgiveness, but I think maybe you two could be something good together."

A spasm of pain crosses Stiles' face, and he looks down again. "Well, if he shares your opinion, he knows where to find me," he says. "I'm not chasing after him."

Erica has to supress a sigh; honestly, these two will be the death of her. Derek refuses to even try to see if Stiles would forgive him, and Stiles, though certainly more right in his stance, doesn't seem inclined to try to mend any bridges either. 

The two of them sit in an awkward silence for a moment, but when Erica catches sight of Stiles's copy of _Moon and Ashes,_ a thought hits her. Maybe she can at least salvage this little meeting. "Hey, did you know that Lyall Mars is doing a signing here in New York?"

Stiles looks up so fast his neck cracks, all tension forgotten. "He is? Are you sure?"

Erica nods. "At the Barnes & Noble," she clarifies. "I think they've got the information about when on their website."

Stiles lets out a little squeak of delight. "Oh my god," he breathes. "He's never done this before; we don't even know what he looks like. I'm going to die."

Erica grins. "Right? I'm gonna see if he'll sign both books for me; maybe if I wear a low-cut shirt..."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You're shameless," he says. "Besides, with the chemistry he piles in between his male characters, my bet would be that he's gay."

"He could be bisexual," Erica argues. 

"True," Stiles concedes. He grins. "It can't hurt, I guess."

"No it can't," Erica agrees. 

* * *

It's two weeks till the signing when Derek tells Laura and Cora about the books. Both of his sisters have already read both and raved about them to him, so he knows that they like the books, but he's uncertain as to how they'll take the news that _he_ wrote them. He decides a Skype call is the best option, and luckily Laura is online. He takes a deep breath, and clicks 'call.' 

Laura accepts the call almost instantly, and a moment later she appears, looking tired and vaguely grainy, but sporting a huge smile. "Little bro!" she crows. "Tell me the truth, did you press the wrong button?"

Derek shakes his head, a small smile on his face. "No, I uh - I wanted to talk with you. Is Cora in today?" Cora had come back to the states for a semester. 

"Yeah, I can get her," Laura says. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, no, I just... have some news, I guess."

Laura's eyes widen, and she leans back to holler over the back of the sofa. "Cora! Get in here!"

There's a rush of footsteps and Derek's younger sister appears behind Laura. "What?" she asks, annoyed. "I was doing my hair. Is that Derek?"

"He wants to talk to us," Laura says, and that's all Cora needs to convince her to flop down on the sofa next to her and pull the laptop between them.

"Have you finally got a boyfriend? Are you getting married?"

Derek huffs. "No, and no," he says, rolling his eyes. "It's - you know those books by Lyall Mars?"

"Yeah..?" Cora prompts.

Derek takes a moment to breathe deeply before he continues. "Maybe a year ago, Dr. Morrell gave me an assignment - to write about the fire, since I still wasn't really talking about it. I ended up writing a more... fictional story. About the supernatural."

Laura sucks in a sharp breath, while Cora demands, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"That depends," Derek hedges. "Are you thinking that I'm Lyall Mars?"

"Oh my god," Laura whispers, at the same time that Cora explodes.

" _You're_ Lyall Mars?! Oh my god, those books are _sensational_ , you must be making so much money!"

"I am," Derek admits, "but that's not why I told you. You remember in the second book, when Hoechlin tells Dylan and Tyler about his family?"

Cora falls silent, and Laura exchanges a look with her. "You're Hoechlin, aren't you?"

Derek nods. "Yeah."

"Oh, Derek," Laura breathes.

Cora sighs. "That actually makes an awful lot of sense."

Derek shrugs. "It started out as a therapy thing, then Dr. Morrell said she knew an agent, and then things just... spiraled from there."

"Did it help?" Laura asks tentatively. 

Derek nods. "It did."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Cora demands.

"Why are you telling us now?"

"I didn't intend for it to get published in the first place," Derek explains. "And the first book didn't do a whole lot of explaining. The second one did, though, and since this whole thing was a project to help me start to... not blame myself as much, Dr. Morrell thought I should tell you, and I agreed."

Laura nods. "I think I understand that," she says. "I'll have to read it again, but I already saw you in Hoechlin." She looks at Cora. "Derek, you know that _we_ don't blame you, right?"

Derek shakes his head. "That's never been the problem, not really," he says. "The problem is that _I_ blame me. It's getting better - slowly, but still better."

Laura smiles. "I'm glad," she says. "We love you."

"I love you, too," Derek says, smiling. 

Cora looks at Laura. "You know what this means, don't you?" she asks.

"What?"

"He killed you off."

* * *

It's the day of the signing, and Stiles hasn't been this excited in weeks. He's kind of freaking out a little bit. He tried to get Erica to go with him a couple of days ago, but she's going with Boyd and she's also getting there way earlier than Stiles. Stiles would have loved to join them, knows he's cutting it fine as he sprints through the streets to get to Barns & Noble with twenty minutes to spare until the store closes and Lyall Mars leaves the building, possibly _forever_ , but his boss was being a dick as ever and wouldn't let him leave on time, let alone the five minutes early that he'd asked for, and his phone has died so he couldn't even call a cab.

Stiles rounds the corner onto the right street and his heart nearly stops when he sees the amount of people milling around outside. If the line is so long it's still on the street, there's _no way_ he's going to get inside before they cut off the crowd and tell them that Mars doesn't have the time to see any more people. He keeps running anyway, because he isn't a quitter, and is so relieved when he realises that these people have already been inside and are just hanging out talking about how _nice_ Mars is that he almost flops face-first onto the pavement. He manages to remain upright, however, and actually gets cheered on as he hurries up the steps and through the doors to Barns  & Noble.

There aren't that many people still here, Stiles is pleased to note, but there are enough that Lyall Mars' face is obscured. That's okay; he's waited this long to find out if Lyall Mars is as hot as Stiles and the rest of the fandom dream he is, he can wait a little longer. In fact, the prolonged anticipation makes it even better. Stiles bounces on the balls of his feet a little and takes his place in line.

Derek doesn't think he's interacted with this many people in his entire life up to this point; he's been here from about ten this morning and it's now going on eight at night. He's supposed to be done in about ten minutes, but Derek might insist on finishing out the line. The people have been amazing so far, all complimenting the book and him, but Derek finds himself more and more nervous as the line grows shorter; Erica, when she'd been here earlier, had said that Stiles was coming, but Derek hasn't seen a sign of him yet. 

The gods must be smiling down on Stiles today, because the Barns & Noble people close the doors behind him not two minutes after he gets inside. He desperately asks them if Mars will have time to see everyone who's left, and they don't seem too happy when they say yes, but Stiles is delighted. He's already fished his much-loved copy of _Bad Moon Rising_ out of his bag and is clutching it to his chest in a fruitless attempt to hold in his excitement; a couple people in front of him have already turned around to ask him to stop fidgeting. But he can't. These books have kept him alive these past weeks - months, if he's honest - and the man who created them, created his salvation, is only a few feet away. In fact, when the person who is currently with Mars leaves and the line shuffles forward again, he may even be able to catch a glimpse of Mars' face, to finally see the glorious genius who was able, with just the power of his words, to bring the YA audience to its knees.

Then it happens. The girl up front walks back down the line, grinning widely with red cheeks and stars for eyes, and then the rest of them are moving up a bit and the line thins out and Stiles jumps up to see and--

"You've gotta be _fucking_ shitting me."

Yeah, the gods are definitely not smiling at Stiles. They're laughing at him.

Derek, and probably the rest of the store, if the stunned reactions are anything to go by, hears Stiles's remark; Derek's heart sinks down to plop somewhere on the floor. "Hi, Stiles," he says after he finishes with the person whose books he'd been signing. 

"That's all you've got for me?" Stiles demands. There are only four people before him in the line, and they've all moved aside so that Stiles can see Derek perfectly. It's probably a good thing; Stiles won't be held responsible for his actions if he has to approach the table now. "'Hi, Stiles'? You haven't spoken to me for _months_ , you've been lying to me for longer, and you say _hi_?"

"What the hell else am I supposed to say? Or do you want to do this all in public?" Derek snaps back, then makes himself stop. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry - you're right. But I didn't lie to you about this; it never came up."

"It never came up," Stiles repeats. "Okay." He turns, and the staff are quick to unlock the door so he can walk straight back out onto the street.

Derek's frozen to the spot, but then the woman who's been assisting him today gives him a nudge and a meaningful look, and he bolts out the door after Stiles. 

* * *

He doesn't see Stiles by the time he reaches the street, so Derek heads for Stiles's apartment, rushing the whole way. It's locked when he gets there, and when a knock that receives no reply suggests that Stiles isn't home, Derek resolves to wait for him. 

Stiles gets home an hour later, looking decidedly worse for wear. He doesn't look surprised to see Derek there, just resigned, and he sighs, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairwell rather than moving to unlock his front door. It looks like it might be the only thing holding him up.

"You're Hoechlin, aren't you?" he asks quietly, his voice hoarse. "And, am I Dylan?"

Derek nods. "I tried not to let it happen," he says. "The similarities between you and Dylan."

Stiles takes a breath. "Okay," he says. And then he blurts, "You know these books read like a love letter to me, right?"

Derek gives him a dry look. "So everyone on tumblr seems to think, with the whole, Hobrien, thing. But it was never intended to be like that - it was originally an assignment from my therapist."

Stiles nods. "I figured," he says. "I hope it helped."

"It did," Derek says. "But I didn't come here for that - I did want to apologize for... Well, everything. For how I acted, and for avoiding you."

"It's fine," Stiles says. "I didn't-- I wasn't ready to talk to you, anyway."

Derek nods understandingly. "I get that. And for what it's worth, I am sorry. I was... horrible, that night, and you deserved better. A lot better. I know words don't mean much here. But I am sorry, both for how I acted and how it affected you."

"Why?" Stiles asks, before he can help himself. "Why were you like that? Were you just using me?"

Derek swallows. "I didn't know for a while, but I think I was trying to get you out of my system. I resented how easily you got so far under my skin, I think. I didn't want a relationship, I thought. So I made stupid decisions."

Stiles sighs. "What do you want from me?" he asks.

Derek shrugs one shoulder. "Whatever you're willing to give me," he says honestly. "I know I have no right to want anything from you, and I'm not stupid enough to think a couple of apologies is going to fix everything."

"Derek, you told me I was a mistake," Stiles says, frowning. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Derek shakes his head. "I didn't mean _you,_ " he says, trying to explain. "I meant the way it happened - that I even came over there while drunk in the first place. _You_ were never a mistake, Stiles."

Stiles closes his eyes, leans back until his head bumps against the wall. He stays like that for a few moments, and when he meets Derek's gaze again, something has changed behind his eyes. "Maybe you should come in."

Derek glances from Stiles to the door and back. "Are you sure?"

Stiles hesitates, but nods. "We need to talk, and I don't think I want Mrs. Irving to hear any more." He sends a meaningful glance towards the door opposite his own, just as a disappointed huff comes from behind it.

Derek flushes, but nods. "Okay then."

Stiles pushes off the wall without another word and lets them into his apartment, waiting until the door is firmly shut behind them before speaking. "Do you want anything to drink, or..?"

Derek shakes his head. "No, I'm good, thanks." He glances around, taking in the decor he hadn't seen the last time he was in here. 

Stiles notices, and shuffles his feet self-consciously. The apartment is clean, but it's definitely messier than it was the night Derek came over. Stiles grabs his laptop and a blanket off the couch and moves them out of the way before turning to look at Derek. "So, um," he says. "I don't really know where to go from here."

Derek settles on the other end of the couch; the armchair is covered in what could either be clean or dirty laundry, and either way Derek doesn't want to touch it. "I don't either," he admits. "To be honest, I expected you to tell me to fuck off."

"So did I," Stiles confesses. "But, that's not what I want."

Derek hesitates, then asks carefully, "What do you want?"

Stiles perches on the arm of the couch furthest from Derek, gives him a wry smile. "Whatever you're willing to give me."

Derek can't help but let out a breathless laugh at that. "I'm willing to give you a lot of things, Stiles," he says. "It kind of frightens me how much."

"Your fortune?" Stiles teases. "Total plot control over your next novel?"

"Well, maybe not the second one," Derek says with a slight smile. 

Stiles smiles back, a soft, tender thing. "Derek, I'm in love with you," he says quietly.

Derek sucks in a deep breath, somehow surprised at Stiles's admission. "Stiles, I - you deserve better than me."

"Do I?" Stiles asks. "I don't think so."

Derek shakes his head. "You do," he says firmly. 

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because I'm not good enough," Derek says simply. "I'm not a good person, and I've got an awful lot of baggage."

"You are a good person," Stiles argues. "And everyone has baggage. I have baggage. My mom died when I was eight and there's a chance I'll inherit what killed her, and that scares the shit out of me. My dad is a cop and he has a dodgy heart and that scares the shit out of me, too. Sometimes I forget to eat with my meds and it makes me really sick. I'm a control freak and I have ADHD and anxiety and sometimes I have nightmares so bad I wake up screaming. Am I not good enough for you?"

Stiles has him there, and they both know it. "How could you even think about forgiving me, though?" Derek asks, a bit desperate. 

Stiles sighs. "Is it going to happen again?" he asks.

Derek shakes his head. "Never," he swears. 

"Then that's all that matters," Stiles says. "We both fucked up that night, we both walked away hurt. I'm not saying that I'm over it because I'm not yet. But I can forgive you because I love you, and I want us to move forward."

Derek nods. "Okay. I think - I think we can work with that." It occurs to him that he's yet to return Stiles's declaration of love, so he does. "Stiles? For the record, I love you, too."

Stiles grins. "Oh good," he laughs. "'Cause I don't care what you say, those books really weren't subtle."

Derek laughs. "I swear I never intended for that to happen."

"No one will ever believe you," Stiles insists. He slides off the arm of the couch and tucks his feet up beneath him, and gives Derek a soft, almost shy smile. "So, what happens next in the story?"

"I don't know yet," Derek admits, turning so he can sit cross-legged and face Stiles directly. "The second book did just come out. But I think maybe Hoechlin and Dylan might sort things out between them, since everybody seems to be rooting for them."

Stiles ducks his head, still smiling. "That's not what I meant."

It takes Derek a second to realize what Stiles was talking about, then he flushes. "I'm uh, well, I'm not the only author of that story. Might need some advice from my co-writer."

Stiles bites his lip. "I'd really like to kiss you," he says.

Derek lets his legs uncross so that he can scoot forward an inch or two. "I'd really like that," he confesses quietly. 

Stiles meets him halfway, and reaches out to cup his face with a gentle hand. A moment later they're kissing.

This kiss is better than even the first one they shared, tipsy outside a bar. Derek reaches for Stiles's other hand, threading their fingers together because he needs that other point of contact to know that he's not dreaming this time, that he's actually here - that _they're_ actually here. 

Stiles holds on, even after they break apart to share a soft smile, and squeezes gently. "What happens next is up to you," he murmurs.

Derek swallows. "Slow," he murmurs back. "We should take this slow."

Stiles bumps their noses together, steals another sweet kiss. "We will," he promises. "But, you could still stay, if you wanted?"

Derek hesitates again. "I'd like that." This is just the beginning, Derek knows - he knows he'll have to do an awful lot to make up for how he's treated Stiles these past few months - but he’s willing to give this a shot. 

* * *

"Oh my god, I am _so cold_ ," Stiles whines, shivering so violently that he can't quite get his key in the lock. "Come on, come on, please God, yes!" He crows triumphantly and throws the door open, ushering Derek inside before he slams it shut again. "The radio said it would be mild today. Mild! If a freak thunderstorm and torrential rain is mild, I'd hate to see it get any worse. Jesus Christ!" He's already half naked, his clothes a sopping wet pile of smush on the floor, and he's perching on the arm of the couch to peel his socks off when he looks up and sees Derek, still fully-clothed and dripping steadily onto the carpet. He looks kind of cute actually, with his hair plastered to his forehead and his glasses all steamed up, but he's also shaking. "You wanna take some of that off before you catch your death, buddy?"

Derek's cheeks aren't just flushed with cold as he replies, "Er, yeah - I'll just go in the bathroom. Do you have some clothes I could borrow? Sweatpants maybe?"

Stiles hesitates, but nods and disappears into the bedroom. When he returns, still in his boxers, he presses a pair of sweats and a worn Henley he keeps for when Derek stays the night into Derek's hands. "You know I don't mind, right?" he asks softly. "Do what you gotta do, whatever makes you comfortable, but don't do it because you think I won't like what I see."

Derek swallows, nods. "I know," he says quietly, taking the clothes. And he does - he knows that Stiles won't do anything bad. But Derek's spent years concealing the scars; it's habit more than anything else that has him ducking into the bathroom to disrobe and pull on the sweatpants and shirt. While he's in there, he makes a decision that he's hardly ever been able to make even in the privacy of his own home: he rolls up the sleeves of the shirt to his elbows, but it's enough to expose the extensive scarring over his left forearm. Even that little bit makes him feel naked, vulnerable, but he pushes through it to leave the bathroom, clothes hung over the shower rod. 

Stiles notices immediately, and is surprised at this open display of trust, but more than that, he's touched. He's gotten changed himself by now, is wearing loose-fitting pajama bottoms and a fleece sweatshirt, and the smile he gives Derek is soft and warm as he holds out a hand. "Wanna come snuggle on the sofa?"

Derek nods, accepting Stiles's hand and assuming the spot of the little spoon. "I like this," he says quietly, leaning against Stiles. 

"Me too," Stiles murmurs. His fingers find Derek's hand, his left one, and stroke gently over his wrist and forearm. The skin is smooth in some places, unusually textured in others; it's clearly scarred, but it doesn't repulse Stiles or weird him out. It's just... skin. "Is this okay?" he whispers.

Derek nods, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Yeah, it's okay," he murmurs. "Just been... a while since someone's touched them." Since the last doctor's visit to check that everything had healed and was as functional as it was going to get, over six years ago, as a matter of fact. 

"I've got you," Stiles whispers, his caresses becoming more sure. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Derek says, just as quiet as he threads the fingers of his right hand with Stiles's. 

Stiles leans up a little then, and kisses the side of Derek's neck. There are scars here too, but Stiles has seen these before, and has been curious about getting his mouth on them for a while.

Derek stiffens at first, but when Stiles doesn't do anything, just continues to let his lips rest against the side of Derek's neck, the older man slowly relaxes, letting his head tilt slightly to the side, giving Stiles better access. 

Stiles sighs softly against Derek's skin and begins to trail his lips slowly down his throat. When he reaches Derek's shoulder, he hides his face briefly in the crook of Derek's neck and presses a lingering kiss there. "Stop me if you don't like it," he murmurs.

Derek hums agreement. "Keep going."

So Stiles does, nosing the collar of the Henley out of the way so he can kiss along Derek's shoulder next. At some point the hand that had been stroking Derek's wrist falls down to the hem of his shirt, and pushes it up to allow Stiles' fingers to slip beneath.

Derek's stomach tenses and jumps under Stiles's touch, but more because he's ticklish than out of nervousness. "Lightly," he mutters, snorting on a laugh. "Ticklish."

Stiles laughs against Derek's skin, and strokes further up his abs. "I'll have to remember that," he teases, even as his fingers tease at Derek's treasure trail. "But not just now."

"Yeah?" Derek asks. "What're you planning to do?"

"Whatever you want me to," Stiles says simply. "Whatever you're comfortable with."

Derek doesn't hesitate; he takes Stiles's hand and moves it lower, settling it over his crotch. "Bedroom?"

Stiles moans quietly and lets his fingers curl around the bulge beneath them briefly before pulling his hand away. "Only if you're ready."

"I am," Derek insists quietly, not letting Stiles's hand go too far. "If you want to, I'm game."

Stiles sighs against Derek's shoulder, kisses him there again. There's a pause, a moment in which Stiles seems to debate with himself, and then he asks, "Can I see you?"

This time, Derek does hesitate; but he nods. "Yeah."

Stiles sits up, and encourages Derek to do the same. Once they're facing each other, he takes Derek's hand and pulls his scarred wrist up to his mouth for a kiss. "Take your time," he says, searching Derek's face. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," Derek says quietly. "But you'll see them sooner or later, and I'll always be nervous about the first time."

Stiles nods. "I get that," he promises. "Would it help if I took mine off, too?" Derek has seen him shirtless in the time since they got together, has seen him naked even, but Stiles doesn't want him to feel like there's a power imbalance between them, like he's exposed and vulnerable while Stiles is clothed and safe.

Derek thinks about it then nods. "Yeah, that might help.”

Stiles doesn't hesitate, just whips his shirt off over his head and lets it land on the floor.

Derek gives him a grateful smile, then takes a deep breath and tugs his own shirt off. Objectively, the scars are pretty awful. They cover the entire left side of Derek's chest and abdomen, and even edge onto the right; Stiles can see the evidence of extensive skin-grafting and even more extensive burns besides, and he wonders where else Derek has scars, if he'll see them on his legs when the sweats come off, too. But still, Stiles isn't repulsed by them. He doesn't have to fight to keep a grimace of disgust or pity off his face as he takes in the devastation left by the fire. All he can think about is the pain Derek must have endured to walk away with such intensive injuries; the strength he must have needed to still be standing.

Stiles doesn't know what shows on his face, but Derek doesn't flinch away when he moves closer, holds his gaze as he bends to press his lips to Derek's chest, just above the ruined nipple and right over his heart. "You're beautiful," he says softly, "and so strong. I love you."

Tears spring to Derek's eyes, and he blinks furiously to keep them at bay. Surgery has only covered the worst of the burns, and then mostly where skin would show. He hasn’t taken off his clothes in front of anyone other than a doctor since the fire, and he's never thought that someone would ever call him 'beautiful.' "I love you, too," he manages to choke out past the tears and the lump growing in his throat. 

Stiles kisses Derek on the mouth then, and takes Derek's hand. "You okay?" he whispers.

Derek nods, leaning in for another kiss. "I'm good," he promises. 

Stiles smiles, lets his gaze slide meaningfully towards his bedroom door. "You wanna?"

Derek smiles back. "I wanna," he agrees, getting to his feet and tugging Stiles to his. 

Stiles is all too willing to follow him. 

* * *

A year almost to the day after Stiles walked into Barnes & Noble and felt his world tilt on its axis, Derek is back for another signing. The third book in his series was released two weeks ago, and this time there _is_ a line as long as the street outside. The bookstore itself is empty, the doors yet to be opened, much to the irritation of both the staff and the fans. The signing was supposed to start ten minutes ago, and Derek can stall no longer. He gives the go ahead at last; the doors open; hundreds of people flood into the store.

And Stiles isn't one of them.

* * *

"I'm sorry, sir, but you have to wait in line like everyone else. Sir. No, excuse me, sir. I said, excuse me! _Security!_ "

He's over half an hour late, but Stiles finally elbows his way to the front of the line and bursts through the people clustered before Derek's desk, just in time for the girl who's with him to take her signed copy of _Howls at Dawn_ and go on her way. The store manager and a security guard are hot on his heels, but he still manages to reach Derek before they reach him and slap an envelope down on the table. "We need to talk."

Derek waves the security away, and frowns at Stiles. "Can it wait?" he asks, indicating the enormous line behind Stiles. 

Stiles shakes his head, his eyes wide. "It really, seriously can't."

Derek sighs. "I'm sorry," he says to the manager, who's still hovering. "I'll just be a moment."

Stiles snatches the envelope back off the desk and lets Derek drag him off to a secluded corner of the bookstore. If he looks miffed, it's nothing compared to the rage the fans are vocalising, but it doesn't matter. Not one bit. "Okay, so I accidentally opened your mail again," Stiles says. "And I'm really sorry and everything, but believe me, buddy, you're going to thank me when you find out what I read."

Derek just rolls his eyes. "I still don't see how you keep opening _my_ mail, but shoot."

Stiles waves the envelope in Derek's face. "It's from a production company," he says. "They want to make a movie!"

"A - " Derek snatches the envelope from Stiles's hand, reading the letter over for himself. "Holy shit, they do. What the _hell._ "

"More than one!" Stiles cries. "Did you read that part? They want to make a franchise out of your books!"

"Jesus," Derek says weakly. "This is - it's not a joke, do you think?"

Stiles laughs. "Definitely not," he promises. "This is real. But the choice is yours."

"Jesus," Derek repeats, no stronger than the first time. "Okay, I need to get back out there; can you call Braeden, arrange an appointment? I need to talk with her before deciding anything."

Stiles nods, unable to keep the grin off his face. "Of course I will," he says. "I'm so proud of you."

Derek smiles and leans in for a quick kiss. "I need to get back out there before the manager comes and drags me by the ear," he says. "Thanks for telling me about this."

Stiles lets him go, and the cheer the crowd lets loose at Derek’s reappearance is nothing compared to the roar that greets him a year later at the first movie premiere.


End file.
